Family Affairs
by AminalLuv
Summary: The relationship between the Huntzberger men is strained enough as it is without Logan eying the pretty, talented, witty features reporter at the New York Office.
1. The Boss's Office

**AN: I know, I know, I can barely update the stories I already have; the last thing I should be doing is starting another one. But you see, I was watching the video to Mr. Brightside, and I had this idea and I just couldn't shake it. The pairing in the beginning is a little...unconventional, but rest assured it IS and Rogan, as always. Let me know what you think, please. If it's just too disturbing, I'll put this on the back burner and concentrate on my other stories. Here's a few facts you need to know, since it's AU...**

**Rory went to Harvard, so she never met Logan. She moved to NY after graduation to work at a newspaper and she lives with Paris. Paris did go to Yale and the only changes to her storyline are that she and Doyle _did_ break up right before graduation and she chose to go to Columbia, not Harvard for med school. Logan went to London after Yale and spent about 2 1/2 years there. Mitchum and Shira are divorced. I think that's all for now. Any questions, let me know.**

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_Blink…blink…blink…_Rory Gilmore stared dazedly at the blank, Word document filling her computer screen. She had sat down after lunch with every intention of starting on her latest assignment, but over an hour and a half later she hadn't even come up with a title. She was beginning to wonder just how many times the cursor could flash in front of her eyes before it triggered a seizure. Would anyone even notice if she had an epileptic attack at her desk? The foot traffic by her cubicle was pretty minimal seeing as she was located at the far end of the floor; still, a convulsing, features reporter would be sure to get someone's interest. In fact, it would probably gather quite a crowd. The commotion would be certain to get the attention of her boyfriend who would rush to her side to make sure she was alright, completely forgetting that their relationship was supposed to be confidential due to the scandal an office affair would create.

Rory sighed, leaning back in her chair. She was sick of hiding her relationship, but he insisted that, as much as he loved her, not everyone would understand the connection they had. It was true that they were an unusual pairing. In fact, at first Rory had ignored the chemistry she felt with him due to the many complications their relationship was bound to bring about. There was their professional relationship to think about, of course but in many ways, that was the least of it. She had also considered the significant age difference between them. They were at completely different points in their lives. She had just graduated from Harvard and moved to New York for her first real job at the Village Voice. He had already lived an entire life since his college graduation. He'd been married and divorced and he even had two children. But no matter how much she fought it, she just couldn't resist him. He was charming, good-looking, and one of the smartest men she knew. She had followed his career for years; always amazed at what he had accomplished in his life. If she could achieve half as much as he had in twice the time, she would consider herself a success.

She had finally given in to the attraction a few months after she started her new job. At the time, she had heartily agreed that they should keep their dating status to themselves so as not to cause a stir. Rory had even kept it from her mother—as much as it killed her to do so. Lorelai was more than a mother to Rory, she was her best friend. The younger Gilmore had never hidden anything from her namesake. But there was a first time for everything, and Rory knew her mother would never condone the relationship. Rory simply told her mother that she was dating—keeping the specifics to a minimum and always making it sound like she was dating someone different. She didn't think any of his family knew either. In fact, she was fairly certain that the only person who knew about their relationship was her roommate, Paris, and she could hardly say anything, considering she had dated a sixty-something-year-old professor during college.

But now they'd been together over a year and yet they continued sneaking around like he was still married. Sometimes she wished something drastic would happen that would force him to publicly acknowledge her so that the little nagging voice in the back of her head that wondered if he was ashamed of her would shut up. She knew she should stand up for herself. After all, if their relationship was going to go anywhere something was going to have to change, but she just couldn't risk losing him—losing everything.

"Miss Gilmore," Rory's thoughts were interrupted by the buzzing of her intercom. She immediately recognized the voice as her boss's secretary. With a deep breath, she leaned back in her chair and pressed the button on her phone.

"Yes?" she asked, trying to hide the worry in her voice. She had turned in another article that morning on the Shakespeare in the Park Festival, but it hadn't been her best work.

"Mr. Huntzberger would like to see you in his office," she announced.

"I'll be right there," Rory informed the receptionist. She sat back up and took a moment to compose herself—running a brush through her hair and quickly touching up her strawberry lip-gloss. With one final glance into her compact mirror, Rory pushed her chair back and stood up before marching to the Boss's office.

"Close the door," Mitchum Huntzberger announced as she entered, not bothering to look up from the stack of papers he had in front of him. Rory did as she was told.

"Look," she said, stepping a little further into the office, "I know it wasn't my best work, but…"

He looked up at her, eyes narrowed curiously. He didn't even let her finish before holding a hand up to interrupt her. "What are you talking about?"

"My article. I know it wasn't my best and I'm sorry, I've just been a little distracted lately."

"The article was great, Rory," he told her matter-of-factly.

"Really," she asked, eyes widening in excitement, "it was?"

"Believe me, if it sucked, I'd tell you. I'm a straight-shooter, Rory. You know that." It was true, Mitchum Huntzberger didn't believe in coddling his employees. He wanted to keep morale up so he always made sure to start a criticism with something positive, but it was very rare that an unqualified compliment came out of his mouth.

"Thank you," she smiled earnestly.

Mitchum turned his chair around and stood up, smirking wickedly. He took a few steps towards her. "Well, if you _really_ want to thank me…" he began suggestively, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her in close.

"_Miiitch,"_ she whined, giggling slightly, "is that what you called me in here for?"

"I'm sure I had a very legitimate reason, but it seems to have escaped my mind at the moment," he played along, leaning in for a quick kiss.

"You know you're not supposed to do that," Rory chastised half-heartedly as soon as he'd pulled away. She gave him a playful shove. "If I'm in here too often, people will start to suspect."

"So let them," he shrugged nonchalantly, turning away from her and walking back to his desk and situating himself in his chair once again.

Rory followed him to his desk, feeling her heart rate pick-up in her chest, beating a staccato rhythm against her ribcage. Was he really considering letting people know about them? It would be so amazing not to have to sneak around. "Really?"

Mitchum sighed in frustration, indicating that, of course, he wasn't serious. "Rory, we've been through this before," he replied, his voice placatingly calm. He pulled her into his lap, letting his hand fall on her bare knee and giving it a soothing squeeze. "People wouldn't understand. They'd think I was just using you as a piece of arm candy and that you were just using me for my money and status. _You're_ the one they wouldn't take seriously. I don't want that to happen to you."

"But it's not true," she replied indignantly. "I love you. You could be a nobody living in a box and I'd still know how special you are. People will realize that we're serious eventually." She snuggled her head into his chest, enjoying the comforting feeling of his free hand stroking her arm. Despite the words that were coming out of her mouth, she knew he was right. If people saw them as a couple, she would come off as looking like nothing more than a ditzy trollop trying to sleep her way up in the journalism world.

"I know that," he promised, "and you know that—can't that be enough for now?" Rory didn't get a chance to answer—they were interrupted by the buzzing of his intercom. "Yes, Denise," he answered, holding a finger up to his lips to instruct Rory to be quiet.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Huntzberger, I know you're in the middle of a meeting with Miss Gilmore, but there's a call for you. It's Frank, on line one. He says you're expecting his call."

"Yes," Mitchum confirmed, "I've got it."

When the clicking of the phone indicated that the intercom had shut off, Mitchum turned his attention back to Rory. "I'll just be a sec, Pooh," he told her, using the pet name he had for her. He hit the flashing button labeled 'line 1.' "Frank," he greeted, simple and straightforward.

"I've checked with the airport and the plane is scheduled to arrive at 7:00 on the dot. You want me to bring him to you after I've picked him up?"

Mitchum paused, turning his eyes on Rory for a moment. "No, that's alright. You can just bring him back to his apartment. I've got plans for the evening."

"Very well, Sir. If you need anything else from me, just let me know."

"I will." Mitchum reached out to the phone again and ended the call.

"You've got plans, huh?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest in a faux reproachful gesture.

"Mmmhmm," he acknowledged, "dinner, with a _gorgeous, _talented, brunette."

"Well she sounds just lovely," Rory smiled brightly. "I'm sure whomever it is that's flying in will understand why you couldn't meet them.

"I'm not sure he won't actually prefer it this way," Mitchum responded dryly.

"Not want to meet with you?" Rory asked with over-dramatic outrage, throwing her hand over her chest in mock disbelief. "But you're the infamous Mitchum Huntzberger," she teased. "Who is this miscreant that doesn't care that I'm stealing all of your time away?"

"My son," he informed her wryly.

The humor slipped from Rory's body. "Your son?" she asked, the tinge of hurt in her voice clearly noticeable. "You didn't tell me your son was flying in."

"I didn't?" he shrugged nonchalantly. "I could have sworn I told you. He's moving back from London. He's going to be helping me out, learning some of the ropes here in New York. It's not a big deal."

The pain in Rory's eyes grew even stronger. _Not a big deal_? It was a very big deal and he hadn't even bothered to share it with her. "He's moving back here? Of course that's a big deal. He's been living across the Atlantic for the past two years and you've barely seen him. I know you two don't have the best relationship, but this could be your chance to change that." She brushed her thumb along his hairline and looked at him pleadingly, silently asking him to talk to her. He would never admit it, but she was sure he hated the relationship he had with his son. It had to be hard to have such a tense relationship with one's family.

"I don't think so, Rory. My son learned to hate me long ago. He spent his entire childhood trying to get back at me for not being there enough. The stunts he pulled," Mitchum shook his head in defeat, "the schools he got kicked out of…"

"He's not a kid anymore," she reminded him, "I'm sure he's outgrown all of that."

"If he's even grown up half enough to stop trying to rebel against me, I'll be thrilled. I just want him to live up to his potential."

"Second chances don't just come around everyday, Mitch. Take advantage of this. You should go meet your son at the airport. Take him to diner, reconnect. At least try…for me?" she gave him her best, puppy dog look.

Mitchum chuckled. "How can I say 'no' to those eyes?" he asked rhetorically. "Fine, I'll try, but don't expect any miracles."

"That's all I ask," she smiled sweetly.

"But what are _you_ going to do all night without the honor of my company?" he asked cheekily. "Not read another book?"

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with spending a night in with a good book," she defended.

"At the rate you're going, Pooh, you're going to run out of reading material before you're thirty."

"Well then," Rory replied, turning her head away haughtily, and moving to stand up off his lap. "Maybe I'll just go out with Paris tonight and flirt with lots of cute boys."

He pulled her right back down, and lowered his mouth to her ear. "I'm not worried," he whispered huskily, "you flirt with all the boys you want… because I know that at the end of the night, you know you need a man." Rory felt herself shiver at his words. It was true; she couldn't imagine anyone her own age that could make her feel the way that Mitchum Huntzberger did.

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AN2: Please, please, please leave me a review so I know whether or not to continue this. THanks :)


	2. Huntzberger Charm

**AN: So apparently a few of you seemed to really love this idea, and a few of you adamently opposed it, but over all it seemed as though the general consensus was that this story was equal parts disturbing and intruiging. Some of you mentioned that you didn't think that Logan would be willing to go for someone who was dating his dad, but come on--do you really think I'd let him find out before he was a total goner for her? Oh this story is going to be so much fun to write. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter...no Mitchum/Rory stuff to suffer through and of course our dynamic duo meet. Let me know what you think.**

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The air in the dimly lit, extraordinarily expensive restaurant was thick with tension between the father and son pair dining at a corner table. Logan sat, absently twirling strands of linguini around his fork with one hand, and downing another sip of the two-hundred dollar bottle of wine they had ordered with the other. He had been more than a little surprised when he had gotten into the limo at the airport and seen his father in the back seat. Mitchum had insisted that they go get some dinner together and 'catch up.' For the most part, they had pretty much sat in silence ever since. Logan was just waiting for the interrogation to begin.

"So, how was London?" Mitchum broke the silence._ How was London? Seriously_? As though he'd gone for a weekend getaway and the experience could be summed up in some monosyllabic response.

"Fine," Logan offered.

"Did you learn anything?" Logan actively restrained the scoff that begged to escape his lips. Logan had pretty much been running the entire operation out in London and with him at the helm circulation had nearly doubled, revenue had skyrocketed, and investors had practically been breaking down the door to do business with them. His father knew this, but he acted as if Logan was still some schoolboy more interested in making trouble than making decent grades.

"Some," he responded in disinterest as he speared a piece of veal with his fork and popped it in his mouth. At least the food here was good, though, the company was severely lacking. It would have been a much more enjoyable meal with a cute blonde—or brunette, or redhead; Logan wasn't particularly picky about hair color—on the other side of the table; preferably one with a decent sense of humor and the ability to hold a somewhat interesting conversation. He used to go for the bimbo type, but a few years ago, he suddenly found himself being bored to tears by them. A pretty face to look at just wasn't enough to hold his interest for an entire date. Besides, getting to know a different girl every night was just becoming too much work. He wanted to develop something a little more comfortable, especially once he had moved to London—so far away from all of his friends. It wasn't like he didn't still enjoy a night spent in the company of a good woman, but he definitely found himself seeking out girls who showed some long-term potential.

Apparently his father wasn't so picky, Logan noticed. Mitchum responded to Logan with a distracted, "Mmmhmm," and Logan looked up to see his father ogling the klutzy busgirl in the short skirt who had bent over to pick up a tray full of silverware she had just dropped. Mitchum had fooled around with much younger women all throughout the course of his marriage. Now that he was divorced, he didn't even try to conceal his cradle-robbing tendencies.

"Yeah, I learned that the World is flat, the Earth is the center of the Universe, and that Communism is superior to Capitalism. In fact, I've officially adopted red as my new color and decided henceforth to forsake all things green. Well, not all things green—I've decided to become a florist."

"Huh?" Mitchum turned his attention back to the table, but he was clearly still distracted by the eye-candy he'd just indulged in.

"Right," Logan said, pushing his chair back and tssing the cloth napkin from his lap onto the table as he stood up, "that's what I thought. How about I do you a favor and take my leave? The night is young…you've still got plenty of time to go screw one of your tramps. Just make sure you check IDs. I hear the penalties for statutory rape in New York are pretty stiff."

"Sit your ass back down," Mitchum commanded gruffly, his attention suddenly devoted to his son once again. "I am your father and I demand a little respect. And not that my personal life is any of your business, but if it weren't for 'one of my tramps' as you so nicely refer to her, I wouldn't even be here tonight. I'm doing this as a favor for her."

"Right," Logan scoffed, "you expect me to believe you'd do a favor for anyone other than yourself, let alone a woman? I bet it was a favor to this girl when you hit on the hostess, too."

Mitchum rolled his eyes. "Harmless flirting, you don't know the first thing about a real relationship, Logan. You're a bigger playboy than I ever was."

"Things change, Dad; people change. But of course that's hard to see when you banish your son to the other side of the globe for two and a half years. But even if I didn't change, I'd still know that 'real relationships' don't involve banging your secretary, trying to bribe your way out of it by buying your wife expensive jewelry, and sending her to some stupid spa."

"You ungrateful wretch," Mitchum hissed angrily, "you have no idea what I've done for this family; what I've given up."

"Well, don't let me interfere with your life anymore, then. Thank your slutty, little fuck-bunny for a terrible evening. I'm out of here." Logan shoved the chair back under the table and stormed off. He didn't even know why he bothered trying to be civil with Mitchum Huntzberger in the first place—he had twenty-six years worth of experiences to tell him that time spent with his father never ended well. Oh well, he was just going to do what he should have done the second he got back on American soil—call his best friends Colin and Finn and go get trashed.

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Rory concentrated intently on her martini glass as she slowly lowered the toothpick-speared olive onto the rim of it. She _almost_ had it perfectly balanced.

"Are you going to drink that, or did you just shell out the ten dollars so you could practice your olive trapeze act?" Paris barked, coming up behind her at the bar. "Because if that's the case, they might have given you the olive and toothpick for free if you were willing to flash a little cleavage." Paris turned her attention to the bartender and ordered—demanded was really more like it—a Miller Lite. Rory hadn't really meant what she had said to Mitchum about going out and flirting with boys, but when she told Paris about the conversation she'd had with him, Paris had insisted that was exactly what she should do. (_You can't just sit around and mope all night. You do this every time he's not around…frankly, it depresses me, and I don't like being depressed.') _So, Rory's pushy roommate had made the decision for her. Paris claimed her classmate at Columbia had an in at the hottest club in Manhattan and could get them on the list. Several hours later, that was exactly where they were.

"You know, Rory," Paris continued once she had her drink in hand, "it's like Terrance always says—if you're going to do something, you should commit to it one-hundred percent. I just don't feel like you're committed to this whole clubbing experience."

"Sorry to disappoint Terrance," she mumbled sarcastically. Terrance was Paris' rather eccentric life coach.

"Listen, I didn't drag you out here so you could sit at the bar and be your normal wall-flower self. You think Mitchum is moping over you? I mean, really…wealthy, good-looking, hedonistic CEO to billion dollar, multi-national media conglomerate spends nights pining over girlfriend? Who's watching _that_ movie?"

"Paris," she whined.

"I'm serious, Rory. Mitchum is used to getting whatever and whomever he wants. You need to show him that you have a life outside of him. Show him he still needs to work to keep you. You need to get the Hell up off your butt and dance."

"Thanks for the tip Paris, but I think I'll pass." Rory turned her attention back to her martini, popping the olive into her mouth. She was most certainly not in the mood to dance. Maybe Paris would let her leave soon. This place was definitely not her scene.

No such luck.

Rory sat at the bar for another forty-five minutes, nursing the same martini without interruption, before anything changed.

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The line outside the night club reached the entire length of the city block and around the corner. Logan breezed right past it and made his way to the bouncer.

"Name?" the burly, artificially bald-headed man guarding the entrance said lazily—leaning against the corner of the doorway, arms crossed against his chest.

"Logan Huntzberger," he answered. Finn had informed him on the phone that he and Colin were on the main floor of the club where the band was playing and that Logan should just go straight to the front of the line and it would all be taken care of.

"Ahh, Finn's buddy." The bouncer perked up at the mention of their mutual friend.

"I try not to advertise it," Logan joked lightly.

"I gotcha," the bouncer chuckled, "Finn can be a bit of a handful; practically assaulted me after he got your call. He was bouncing like a fucking bunny; told me his 'long-lost best mate was in from London and that it was imperative that I let you right in so that he could welcome you back to the Americas by making sure you got thoroughly drunk and laid."

Logan smiled at the tale of his friend's antics. "That's Finn for you."

"Well, go on in. I hope you get your proper welcome home."

"Thanks man," Logan replied as he moved past the other man into the building where the air was pulsating with the beats of the rock anthem flowing from the amps. He searched the main room for a few minutes before seeing his friends sitting in a booth with a couple of girls.

Logan smiled widely, imagining the response he would get from the Curly and Larry to his Moe. Colin and Finn were like brothers to him, and they were what he had missed most about America while he was gone. They were certainly closer than any real family he had, except maybe his sister, Honor.

He strode up to the booth, plastering a serious look on his face, and crossing his arms over his chest menacingly. "Excuse me, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave," he began, getting the attention of his buddies as well as their dates. "These public displays of affection are completely inappropriate and will not be tolerated."

The two girls looked completely horrified by the announcement, truly believing they were getting kicked out of the club.

"But…but we weren't doing anything," the red head next to Finn squeaked, drawing her hands away from Finn's thigh and clenching them tightly to her side, attempting to make as much room between her and the Australian as possible.

Finn smiled wickedly at his best friend. "Yeah, mate," he protested, "we weren't doing anything," he replied with mock innocence, throwing his arm over his date's shoulder and pulling her close.

"It's not our fault we can get laid and you can't," Colin chipped in. The women in the booth both glared angrily at their companions, looking like they were prepared to chop off very important body parts if they were forced to leave the club Lindsay Lohan and her girlfriend were reported to be frequenting.

"Can't get laid?" Logan scoffed. "I think your Mom would care to differ," he joked.

"Which one?" Finn chimed in.

"The blonde," Logan added with a smirk.

"Ah yes, she was _hot_," Finn replied.

Logan chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. He had missed this—the idle banter with his friends. He didn't have to watch what he said around them, didn't have to sensor himself. With those two, he was free to be himself completely. It was good to have that back.

"Yeah," Colin scoffed bitterly, rolling his eyes, "just the way daddy dearest likes 'em. By the way, welcome back, buddy," he added, standing up to give his friend a manly hug. Finn followed suit, although his greeting was slightly more enthusiastic—almost knocking Logan right off his feet.

"Thanks, it's good to be back; and I feel for yah man," Logan empathized, squeezing himself into the circular booth next to the two couples. "At least my dad just screws around with them. I don't know how I'd deal if I got a new mommy who was younger than me."

"You blokes are crazy. If I had moms half as hot as Colin's, I totally take advantage of the situation and root every one of them."

"Eww," Colin glared at his is friend.

"I think I'd almost forgotten how incredibly depraved you are, Finn," Logan added. The thought of sleeping with any of his father's Playboy Bunny wannabes was too disturbing for words.

"That's why you love me though, mate," Finn grinned cheekily.

"Sometimes," Logan shrugged, "so…how does a guy get some scotch in this place?" he asked the ever-important question.

"The waitress should be back around soon—we've been tipping her exceptionally well," Colin assured his friend with a slightly nefarious grin.

"So she's a hottie, huh?" Logan chuckled, knowing exactly the way his friends worked.

"Hell yeah!" Finn's date turned to glare at him angrily. "But not nearly as hot as you," he quickly added for the sake of the girl by his side. This seemed to appease her, and she went back to her inappropriate touching.

"By the way, this is Logan," Colin chimed in, finally doing the polite thing and introducing the new addition to the group. "Logan—Theresa and Nikky." He pointed to the blonde and then the red-head respectively. Logan reached his hand out to greet the girls—acting like his normal, charming-self, and getting a few flirtatious giggles out of them, but nothing more. He wouldn't dream of hitting on his best friend's dates, especially with so many other women around to choose from; and besides, they weren't really his type.

After a few more minutes of catching up with his friends, Logan started looking around for the waitress, who had not yet returned to take his order. He was considering just getting up and going to the bar himself when his eye caught something that sealed the deal for him. She stuck out like a soar thumb in the surrounding environment and she caught his attention immediately. She wore a not too tight, khaki skirt that just grazed her knees which were pressed demurely together, her legs crossed behind the ankles. A white tailored jacket hugged every curve in a sexy, but not trashy way. Her wavy brown hair cascaded just past her shoulders with long, fringy bangs framing her face. There was something about her—something elegant and classy but not stuck up that just didn't fit with the throngs of horny, scantily-clad women strutting around the club. She was definitely beautiful—there was no doubt about it.

"If you'll excuse me, boys," Logan began with a smirk on his face as he started standing up from the booth, "I think a trip to the bar is in order. If I don't come back, don't wait up." With a nod of his head, he was gone.

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Rory busied herself with the cardboard coasters sitting in front of her. She bent one in half, feeling the inside crack, though the outer paper layer held it intact. She tore through it and repeated the action on the next half, wondering how many times she could split the square object. If Paris didn't show up soon to get them out of there, she was going to go insane with boredom. Would Mitchum still visit her in a mental institute?

Despite the deep concentration she had devoted to her coaster, Rory suddenly felt a new presence at her side. "I'll have a scotch, neat," someone stated to the bartender. She sensed the newcomer take a seat on the stool next to hers, but she paid it no mind; people had been coming and going from that spot all night. Still, she couldn't ignore the person next to her for long—his hand reached out for the bowl of peanuts and somehow managed to knock into her, still half-full, martini.

"Damn it, I am _so_ sorry," he quickly apologized, picking the glass up and reaching for a stack of napkins to soak up the mess. Rory hurriedly pushed her chair back and stood up to avoid the liquid running into her lap. She automatically brushed at her clothing, surveying herself for damage. Luckily it seemed her outfit was martini free.

"It's fine," she mumbled absent-mindedly, grabbing a few more napkins to dry off the bar before sitting back down. "No harm done."

"At least let me buy you a new drink; it's the least I can do."

"It's alright," she replied, "I wasn't really drinking it anyway." She looked up at him, really noticing him for the first time. He was handsome, with spiky, blonde hair; soft, brown eyes; and a well muscled, but not too built body,

"Well then, perhaps something different would appeal to you more," the man suggested with a smile. Rory was about to politely decline once again, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the way his eyes seemed to look right into her, or maybe it was the way he smiled at her. Whatever it was, something about him felt comfortable and almost familiar.

"Umm, yeah," she finally agreed with a small smile, "something else would be good."

"What would you like…" he paused, probing for her name.

"Rory," she finished for him, "my name's Rory."

"Nice to meet you, Rory," he held out his hand for her to shake. "I'm Logan."

"Logan," she repeated, accepting his proffered hand.

"So, Rory, what can I get for you?"

"Umm…" she paused. Great, why could she never think of any drinks? This was why she always stuck with her standard martini. She couldn't ask for that though, she'd already told him she didn't want another one, "surprise me," she finally decided.

He nodded in agreement and called the bartender back over, ordering her another drink which she didn't recognize the name of.

"So, what's a girl like you doing all by yourself at a place like this?" he asked, once her fruity concoction had arrived. "It doesn't exactly seem like your scene."

Rory finished swallowing the sip of her drink—it was exceptionally good, she'd have to remember to ask Logan what it was. "It's not," she finally answered, "my roommate dragged me out here. It's actually not really her scene either, but she thought we needed to get out. Apparently I was being a mope and it was depressing her."

Logan laughed. "No offense, but I don't think it worked. You still seem a bit mopey." Rory stiffened up slightly, not sure why his words should have such an impact on her. It wasn't like he was wrong about it. She'd done nothing the entire night but tear apart coasters and doodle on bar napkins with a martini-soaked toothpick. Still, it bugged her.

"I am not mopey," she replied defensively.

"No, I didn't mean…I actually think it's kind of cute—especially the pout." He gave her his most charming smirk and Rory's cheeks immediately turned red from the compliment. She quickly felt her anger dissipate.

"Cherry?" she asked, holding out the fruit filled toothpick from her drink.

Logan looked at her with raised eyebrows and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "I'm sorry, did you just offer me your cherry?"

"Yeah, well, I don't really like them, and I just thought…" She trailed off, noticing the incredulous way he was staring at her. She wasn't sure what she had said wrong, but the look he gave her was making her incredibly uncomfortable. She squirmed in her seat and turned away from him. "If you don't want it you could just say so," she mumbled petulantly.

"No, no I want it," he quickly interrupted, plucking the toothpick from her hands. "I just didn't think you'd be making an offer like that for at least a few more hours."

Realization suddenly dawned on Rory and her face fell in shock and horror. She gasped audibly, or at least it would have been audible if they had been some place quieter. She wasn't sure if she was angrier at herself for her own naivety, or at him for being such a pig. Actually, she was sure—she was definitely angrier at him. "God, you are such a…a boy," she replied in disgust. She suddenly remembered exactly why she was with a real man like Mitchum. Boys were idiots; that was why.

"Jeez, it was just a joke." He held his hands up in surrender.

With a disgusted shake of her head, she quickly shoved her barstool back and stood up, prepared to storm off into the crowd, but Logan was quicker and before she could take a single step he softly grabbed her wrist in his, gently tugging her back around to face him.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated, "it was inappropriate. I realize that—let me make it up to you. Maybe with a dance." He nodded his head towards the dance floor. She glared at him angrily. "I promise I'll be a complete gentleman," he held his hands in front of him for her to see.

She wasn't sure what it was about this guy that seemed to make it impossible for her to be angry at him, but once again she felt herself softening under his gaze. "I don't really dance," she replied.

"You don't dance?" he repeated, clearly not believing her.

"Well…" she trailed off for a moment, "I dance, I just…I don't do…that," she gestured to the masses of lewdly grinding people occupying the dance floor.

Logan laughed light-heartedly. "Let's go," he pulled her towards the dance floor. He began moving to the music but Rory just stood there uncomfortably. After few moments Logan spoke again. "You know, if that's your idea of dancing, I think you were actually right when you said you couldn't do it."

"Ha…ha," she replied drolly.

"Come on, loosen up," he prodded.

"Excuse me?" she asked angrily. This guy was seriously getting on her nerves, but she couldn't seem to walk away which was getting on her nerves even more. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Just that you look like you could use a little fun."

"And dancing with you is supposed to be fun?" she asked pointedly.

"It's a start," he smirked. Damn that smirk; it already seemed to be her downfall.

"Fine," she huffed, "but only to prove you wrong."

"I'll take what I can get," he replied with a smile. He took her hand in his and spun her around. She rolled her eyes instinctively, but felt her own smile starting to creep its way back onto her face. She hated that he was right. She hated that she was having fun already.

After a few more fast songs, the tempo flowing out of the speakers changed as a slow song filled the air. Rory felt conflicted about the change in music. On the one hand it felt safer, less likely to result in some sort of supreme embarrassment she was sure awaited her thanks to her extreme lack of grace; on the other hand it was more intimate and she felt guilty for engaging in such an activity with Logan while she was with Mitchum.

Logan moved his hands to her waist, leaving a respectable amount of distance between them. Despite Rory's inner voice telling her that she was being unfair to her boyfriend by flirting with another man, _and _that she was being unfair to Logan by leading him on, she slipped her arms around his neck and began swaying to the music.

As the song came to a close, she realized she had somehow managed to wind up snuggled tightly into his body. His arms around her felt so safe and his chest so comfortable, as though she'd known him for so much longer than the hour she had. She found herself silently praying for another slow song as the cords of the current melody faded out. Without thinking, she lifted her head up to look at him, wondering if he was feeling the same way. His eyes were staring right back down at her and they locked onto hers, mesmerizing her. She swallowed the lump in her throat as his head leaned down slowly, getting ever closer. After what felt like an eternity his lips landed on hers. She let her mouth fall open and his tongue swept inside. She let her hands slide up from his neck into his hair, pulling him in even deeper. He was an amazing kisser; even better than…_Mitch._ She instantly shoved him away. "Oh God," she mumbled as she took a few steps back, her fingers falling to her lips which had just been engaged in some seriously inappropriate behavior with a near stranger.

"Rory, wait." He reached out to grab for her hand but she yanked it back.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…it was…oh God," was all she could manage to say. "I have to go." This time she was faster than he was as she slipped away into the crowd.

* * *

Logan stood on the dance floor staring in the direction Rory had disappeared several minutes ago. He hadn't moved since. He was still trying to figure out what went wrong. She was the one that had closed the gap between them during the slow song. And then, when he had gone to kiss her, he had moved slowly enough that she had ample time to turn away, but she didn't. She had responded favorably at first, even deepening the kiss, but then—without warning—she had shoved him away. It was definitely not the usual response he got when he kissed a girl. It made no sense.

And then she was gone. Like some insanely beautiful, slightly uptight mirage. He had to admit, in less than an hour she had somehow managed to get under his skin. He shouldn't be obsessing over this one girl who'd just blown him off—there were a hundred others in the club that night. But he didn't want any of them; he wanted Rory. He wasn't really sure what it was about her that had him so captivated. Maybe it was that cute pout she was wearing when he'd first approached her at the bar. Or maybe it was the way she got all riled up so easily. Angry had really worked for her. Luckily he had enough Huntzberger charm to put out the fire before she slapped him and stormed away. Or perhaps it was the kiss, for as long as it had lasted. She had tasted sweet, like the blue lagoon he had bought her; her body arched receptively into his, fitting against him seamlessly; and then there had been the feel of her lips on his, so soft and plump as they moved perfectly with his.

He was pretty certain he wasn't getting this girl out of his head anytime soon. He wanted her. Of course there was the slight problem of finding her; all he had was a first name and there were over eight million people in New York. Still, he was determined. It wasn't like there were a ton of girls named Rory, and he was Logan Huntzberger—he had connections. He was sure with a few of the resources available to him at Huntzberger Publishing, he could find her in no time.


	3. Monday Madness

Rory strode through the halls of _The Village Voice_ Monday morning, her head buried in a stack of papers. There was a week's worth of articles in her hands, all of which had been written Friday night after getting home from the club. She had been so ridden with guilt that she had been unable to sleep and instead she stayed up, typing furiously until well past sunrise. When slumber finally found her, her dreams had been plagued by thoughts of her infidelity. What had she been thinking? She never should have accepted Logan's offer to dance, or even his offer to buy her another drink. She never should have let Paris convince her to go to that club in the first place; then none of this would have ever happened and she wouldn't have had to avoid her boyfriend's calls all weekend. What was she going to say to Mitchum when she saw him? Could she act like nothing had happened? What other choice did she have? She certainly couldn't tell him the truth.

"Just a warning, there's a new ficus about twelve steps ahead of you."

Rory pulled her head out of the articles she was attempting to re-read and looked up, startled. "What?" she asked, looking down the stretch of hallway that lay before her. "There's no new ficus," she observed as she scanned the area for the aforementioned plant.

"I know, I just wanted to see if you were paying attention." Rory turned to the brunet man who was talking to her—dropping her arms, along with her work, to her side. She took a small step into his cubicle to talk without blocking traffic.

"I was just trying to rework this paragraph." She shook the pages in her hands. "I've been on one of my writing streaks, churning articles out left and right all weekend; the only problem is, they all suck." She sighed in frustration, crossing her arms over her chest the best she could without wrinkling the papers she held. Rory had a tendency to bury herself in work as a distraction from real life, but real life always managed to wind up distracting her from her work.

"Puh-lease," Chase, the brunet, replied, "everything you write is fabulous. I wish I could write half as well as you; then I might actually get paid to do it." Chase was a year younger than Rory and had been hired a few months earlier as a fact-checker. It was actually a great job for a new graduate and Rory knew that if it hadn't been for the prestigious fellowship she had received straight out of school, she would probably still be working an entry level position like him and most other twenty-something-aspiring-journalists. She was so thankful that Mitchum had given her such a wonderful opportunity.

"You'll get there eventually," Rory assured him. "You've got to start somewhere. I was super lucky to get that fellowship; otherwise I'd probably still be fact-checking, too." She leaned back, resting herself against his desk, and making herself comfortable.

"I know," Chase said cheerfully, giving her a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm pretty fabulous, too, but I still gotta pay my dues, right? Besides, this job isn't so bad and…oooh, hottie alert at eleven o'clock," he veered off topic, clearly distracted by something he could see over the top of his cubicle.

Rory chuckled at her friend's short attention span. "Don't you have a boyfriend?" she asked.

"That doesn't mean I can't look. Besides, this one's completely straight—shame. Although, he'd be perfect for you. You so need to go out more. I don't think I've seen you have a single date since I started working here."

"I date," Rory countered, "I just don't flaunt my personal life around the office." Of course, that was mostly because her personal life involved scandalous activities with the boss, but she obviously left that part out.

Chase scoffed. "If he's not flaunt-able, he's totally not worth it. Now Mr. Hottie-Mc Hot-stuff over there is completely flaunt-worthy." Chase cast his gaze dreamily back over Rory's shoulder in the direction he'd been looking before.

Rory rolled her eyes in amusement and sent a quick glance over her shoulder to check out the man that had her friend drooling like a St. Bernard. When her eyes landed on the head of messy, blonde hair and the crooked grin, she snatched her head back so quickly she almost gave herself whiplash. The momentum of the sudden movement knocked her off balance and she grabbed the edge of the desk to steady herself—knocking over the cup full of pencils sitting next to her.

"Shit!" The expletive left her mouth at the exact moment the pencils scattered to the floor below her, but it wasn't in response to the accident. In all actuality, she was thankful for the opportunity to hide her head under the desk. She quickly fell to her knees and started to gather up the writing utensils that were rolling all around her.

She attempted to take a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down. Maybe she was just hallucinating. She could deal with being crazy—after all, she had grown up in Stars Hollow, a town her father had dubbed an 'out-patient mental facility.' Crazy was normal to her. Besides, crazy was definitely better than the alternative—facing up to the fact that the strange man she had kissed in the bar the other night was actually her boyfriend's son. Suddenly, there was no doubt in her mind who 'Logan' was. How could she not have seen it? He had his father's eyes and that damned smirk that made her heart flip-flop in her chest. He had felt so familiar to her and now it was painfully obvious why—he was the reincarnation of Mitchum Huntzberger thirty-one years ago.

"Umm, is everything okay over here?" The voice was only vaguely familiar, but she knew without a shadow of doubt to whom it belonged. She stopped all of her movements, not even bothering to breathe. Maybe if she concentrated really, really hard, she could make herself invisible.

"Don't mind my friend here—she's just a little klutzy." Or maybe Chase could make her even more noticeable. She felt a dainty tug on the material of her skirt and her cheeks flamed red as she realized that her skirt must have ridden up in all the commotion and Chase was fixing it for her while she hid. She prayed for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. "I'm Chase," she heard him introduce.

There was a momentary pause and Rory had the distinct impression that Logan had been staring at her embarrassingly exposed rear-end. What underwear had she put on that morning? "Logan, Logan Huntzberger," he finally uttered.

"Nice to meet you." She imagined Chase and Logan shaking hands.

"Ahem," Chase cleared his throat after another moment, "Rory." She sheepishly turned her head around to face the entrance of the cubicle. There stood Logan, looking down at her with wide eyes. Apparently he hadn't recognized her butt—even if he _did_ admire it—but the name and the face were undeniable. She took a deep breath, trying to search for some courage as she pushed herself back to a standing position, pencils in hand. She dropped the pencils back into their designated container and brushed her skirt down, partially as a nervous reaction—partially to make sure there would be no more peep shows.

"Rory Gilmore," she held her hand out in introduction, praying that he would at least play along and pretend they had never met before. Logan seemed to take another moment to compose himself before reciprocating her actions.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gilmore."

"And you," she replied. They locked gazes for a moment, neither able to look away. Rory chewed nervously on her bottom lip. She could feel Chase's gleeful eyes bouncing back and forth between her and Logan, noticing the tension in the air and mistaking it for sexual tension—though it obviously wasn't. She had clearly only been attracted to him at the bar because of the resemblance to his father, and he surely must have gotten over any attraction he had to her after she ran away from him the other night. He probably thought she was certifiably insane.

"Well," Logan finally managed to break the silence, "as long as everything is under control over here," he motioned to the reassembled pencils, "I'm going to explore a bit more before the meeting. It was nice meeting both of you." Logan nodded his head—a semblance of formality—before backing away from the cubicle, and disappearing down the aisle.

Rory sunk back against Chase's desk as she had been before the arrival of her worst nightmare. Only this time, her posture was much more defeated. Chase stared back at her, his smile stretching across his face so wide that his enviously white teeth practically glinted under the glare of the fluorescent lights.

"So..." Rory threw him a withering stare. He ignored it. "He really seemed to like your cherries."

"What?" Rory's eyes popped open wide, nearly falling out of their sockets.

"Those adorable, little, cherry-themed panties you had on," he clarified. "The boy couldn't keep his eyes off of them." Chase grinned wickedly.

"Oh god," Rory buried her face in her hands, and tried to hold back the tears. This was officially the worst morning of her life.

* * *

"Will you stop that?" Mitchum snapped at his son. Logan placed his free hand on his knee to try and still the uncontrollable bouncing; his other hand gripped the pen that he was currently chewing to shreds.

"Sorry," he replied sheepishly—the half of his brain that could actually focus feeling like an inadequate child under his father's judgmental gaze. At least it was only half his brain—the other half was far to distracted to pay any attention to Mitchum Huntzberger. The staff members would be arriving for the meeting any minute. The staff which, miraculously, happened to include the one girl he had been unable to stop thinking about since he met her at the club last Friday.

He had to admit, this morning his attention had been pleasantly diverted to the cute, shapely, cherry-decorated behind that stuck out from beneath the desk in that cubicle—he _was_ a man, after all—but nothing compared to his reaction when that guy called out the name 'Rory' and the face he'd been dreaming about turned to greet him. His stomach churned, his heart sped up, his blood rushed to places it shouldn't go during working hours. On the inside, everything was moving in fast forward, but on the outside, his body was set to pause. He had wanted to see her again, but he never imagined it would be so soon, in the one place he was destined to spend over half of his waking life. It was like fate. Logan Huntzberger never really believed much in fate, but there was no other way to explain his insanely good fortune. She was here. Rory was here, in this building, soon to be in that very room. He glanced towards the entrance for the twelfth time in the last two minutes, just in time to see the door swing open and a line of people file in.

Rory walked with her eyes permanently fixed to the floor. His gaze followed her around until she took a seat on the other side of the room facing perpendicular to him. She situated herself, shifting nervously in the seat before finally chancing a covert glance in his direction. He caught it easily since he had barely stopped looking at her long enough to blink. He took the opportunity to send her his most charming smile, and she quickly looked away again.

The meeting seemed to pass in a blur as his father carefully laid out Logan's professional life over the next several months. He discussed which department he would be working in when and whom he would be shadowing in each. Shadowing—as though Logan had never worked in a newsroom before—it was like he was some lowly intern who should just be happy to not be fetching coffee. Then again, his father never did have very high expectations of him. Mitchum's only real hope for his son was that he didn't screw-up too badly. All of his achievements meant nothing if he so much as made a _single_ mistake. As happy as Logan was to be back in The States, with all of his friends, a part of him wished Mitchum had just let him be over in London where he could work without his father's looming shadow always overhead.

Of course, one glance to Logan's right at the petite brunette scribbling furiously, pausing only on occasion to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and all ill thoughts of working here were quickly banished from his head. It was fate—right? When did Mitchum say Logan would be working in Features?

"Are there any questions?" Logan's head snapped up. The meeting was ending. He silently cheered, and then took a moment to compose himself as he looked around the silent room. Not a single hand was in the air. He ached to get out of his seat. He had plans—plans to get Rory alone. As Mitchum officially dismissed the staff, Logan pretended to pack up while sending continual glances towards Rory, trying to catch her eyes and silently ask her to stay behind—even though he knew she was probably going to avoid him at all costs. Unfortunately, it seemed, someone else _did_ have the power to make her stay.

"Miss Gilmore, do you mind staying behind for a moment. I need to have a word with you," the authoritative voice of his father commanded. Logan's eyes snatched up to his father angrily. He had to be kidding. Of all the people he could possibly 'need a word' with, he had to choose _her?_ She was a nothing on his father's radar; a peon. When had Mitchum Huntzberger started giving a crap about his staff writers?

Logan suppressed the frustrated groan he felt rising at the knowledge that he would have to wait even longer before getting to speak with Rory. It was like his father _knew—_he must be a frickin' mind reader. He had never let Logan get what he wanted and it seemed that Mitchum Huntzberger wasn't about to start now.

* * *

Mitchum let his eyes roam over the writing on the page before him, even though he knew every word of the memo by heart—thanks to his photographic memory. Still, he needed to focus his eyes somewhere, or else he was sure they would focus themselves on a certain blue-eyed vixen and his other employees were bound to notice him leering at the young, sexy reporter he had requested alone time with. Besides, he needed to feign some indifference for Rory's sake, too. After all, relationships—just like everything in life—were all about power, and as always, he was the one in charge.

He found it much more difficult with Rory than it ever had been with any other woman. Normally, he could get whatever he wanted from a woman with nothing more than a quick dip into his wallet. He could ignore a girl for weeks and then simply show up with a pretty necklace or a designer purse he didn't even pick out himself, and she would be putty in his hands. A benefit of dating younger women—in addition to their tight asses and pert breasts—they were so easily won over.

But Rory wasn't like that. She wasn't impressed by his money or status, although she did seem interested in his talents and accomplishment, but that wasn't really the same at all. That only meant that she actually respected him.

Rory had been a challenge from the very beginning. She didn't fall for any of his usual charm, and Mitchum had had to find new, more subtle ways of wooing her. It had taken months for him to convince her to go out on a date with him. If winning her interest had been hard, keeping it was certainly no easier. He couldn't just use her as he pleased, disappearing for weeks, flying away on business without telling her, and then showing back up when ever he wanted. She expected phone calls and regular dates—if that's what you could even call the nights-in which she preferred over going to some romantic, expensive restaurant. She expected him, and not just his money. It was difficult for Mitchum to make sense of any of it. How was it possible—when she had so many demands on his time and affections—to give into them and still be in control of the relationship? How did he keep her happy and still keep the power? Rory Gilmore was a challenge, but Mitchum Huntzberger never let a challenge stand in the way of what he wanted.

The room had emptied out, and the last person had closed the door. Mitchum took another moment to finish his pretend reading—he had been waiting for _her_ call all weekend, it was her turn to wait. Finally, Mitchum looked up, leaning back in his chair, and fixing his eyes on his girlfriend. "I called you Saturday," he said simply.

"I know," she looked down at her shoes and bit her lip, clearly conveying that she felt ashamed for not calling him back.

"It's not like you to not return my calls." He didn't make any accusations. The last thing he wanted was for her to get defensive; then she would never admit her wrong doing. This way she just wound up feeling guilty, keeping the power with him.

"I know," she admitted again, "I just got bit by the writing bug and you know how I am when my muse hits—I barely slept or ate all weekend. I'm running on about eight cups of coffee this morning alone." She was rambling—a sure fire sign she was nervous. Rory hadn't been nervous around him since she had finally given in to his advances and agreed to go out with him. Of course, it could have also been the eight cups of coffee.

"You seemed distracted during the meeting, is everything okay?"

"Yeah," she insisted with a nervous chuckle, "fine, why wouldn't it be?"

He appraised her carefully, trying to determine what she was hiding from him. He was sure it wasn't anything to _really_ worry about—after all, Rory was freakishly moral. She had never done well with keeping their relationship under wraps. The only reason she put up with it was because her conscience felt that it was the better alternative over coming out in the open and letting the word think she hadn't honestly earned her job. She was far too proud of her accomplishments to let them be tarnished that way. After a few moments, Mitchum merely shrugged, deciding to let it drop. He had other things to discuss with her. "No reason," he responded.

"Okay, then," she squeaked, "is there anything else?"

"Yes, actually," he admitted. She looked slightly worried for a moment. "I wanted to ask a favor of you." This actually seemed to make her relax.

"Of course." There was nothing but sincerity in her voice. He never ceased to be amazed by Rory's willingness to lend a helping hand.

"It's about Logan."

"Oh." He sensed her reluctance to get involved in his strained family affairs by the way she quickly tensed up again. He would need to be careful about this request. She would be hesitant to agree, but he knew she was eager to patch things up between him and his estranged son. He knew her grandparents, and was well aware of the falling out between them and her mother shortly after Rory's birth. Just as she frequently played peace maker for her own flesh and blood, her nature would force her to attempt the same for him and his family. She always wanted everyone to get along.

"I don't like putting you in the middle of our problems, but I could really use your help," he began. If there was one thing Rory loved to do, it was help. She was a butt-in-sky by nature, always wanting to meddle for the greater good.

"Well," she said hesitantly.

"It's just, Logan has got so much potential, but I'm worried about him." Yes, Mitchum was worried; worried that Logan would squander that potential away just as he had for the past twenty-six years of his life. The truth was, his son was a lazy, self-absorbed, useless son-of-a-bitch—not that there was any need to bring Shira into this.

"I'm sure there's nothing to be worried about," she placated. "He did great in London." Sure, things had gone _okay_ over in London, but Mitchum had insured that his best men had been sent there as well to given Logan all the direction he needed. Logan had really been nothing more than the omnipresent face of the company that the employees needed to get their acts together. Not to mention that he had been away from those idiotic friends, Colin and Finn. Now that Logan was back in The States, he was sure those two would be making their bad influences known. And then there was Logan's innate need to rebel against everything Mitchum said. That desire would be much stronger here while they were in the same office. So, Mitchum would need someone to baby-sit Logan—make sure he didn't mess up too badly. He could give the job to one of his usual lackeys, but it would be too obvious. If Logan felt like he was being watched, he would only rebel more.

"I just need someone to give him a little push," Mitchum continued, "someone he'll listen to."

"What makes you think he'll listen to me?" she asked. Mitchum thought he detected a fait edge of defensiveness to her voice. Perhaps she would fight getting involved in their father-son issues more than he had anticipated.

"You're around his age," Mitchum defended his choice. "And you've accomplished more than most have so shortly out of college. Young, successful, talented—you're exactly the kind of influence he needs."

She blushed under his compliments, but she apparently wasn't completely swayed, yet. "I don't know," she hesitated, "I don't want to lie to him."

"You don't have to lie," he assured her.

"I can't tell him about us," she reminded him.

"Well, no," Mitchum agreed. That was the last thing he needed his son to know. Knowing Logan, he'd use an affair like this to destroy his father's reputation just out of spite.

"It would just be too weird keeping that from him under the circumstances. I mean, you're kind of asking me to become friends with him. What happens eventually when...if…" she quickly amended, most likely to appease him. She still seemed to be under the impression that one day their affair would be public knowledge. "…He finds out the truth?"

"You don't need to become best pals," Mitchum amended. Logan didn't really have friends of the female persuasion, anyhow. He didn't want Rory getting _too_ close; his son might get the wrong idea. Mitchum shuddered at the thought. At lease he knew he could trust Rory on that front. "Please, Rory," it was rare that Mitchum would resort to pleading, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "It would just make me feel so much better knowing there was someone in this office looking out for his best interests."

Rory sighed and he knew she was caving. She could never hold out long against his persuasions. She gnawed on her lip anxiously before shrugging in defeat. "I'll see what I can do."


	4. To Really Know a Huntzberger

**AN: Finally. It took me forever to get this chapter out of my head and onto the computer screen. Well, it's here now. Hopefully the next thing I try to write won't be so resistant to being written ;) Enjoy**

* * *

It seemed like hours in which Rory was locked inside the conference room with his father. Logan had lingered in sight of the door so that he could see exactly when she emerged. He was engaging in half-hearted introductions and small talk with a few of the employees with desks nearby, but a part of his attention was always on that door. Of course it was mostly because he wanted to know when she was free so that he could finally get to talk with her, but a part of him just wanted her away from Mitchum. He was distinctly uncomfortable with the idea of her being alone with 'Heil Huntzberger.' It was strange that he should feel protective of the girl when he barely knew her, but, so far, when it came to Rory Gilmore, nothing about how he felt made sense. She was like an addiction for him—a drug so powerful that all it took was one tiny, little hit to have him hooked. Besides, she seemed so innocent and impressionable and he knew how effortlessly his father was capable of destroying someone like that.

When the door finally opened up, he watched her slink out of the room—her shoulders slumped as she gnawed nervously on the fingernail of her thumb. Logan felt anger bubbling up inside him as he took in her defeated posture. What had his father said to her? He felt an unfathomable desire to go to her. He wanted to make her laugh and then tell her not to worry about Mitchum Huntzberger. Mitchum was an ass—he obtained pleasure from bringing other people down. Whatever he had said that had upset her was clearly unwarranted, especially if it concerned her writing. After all, once Logan had found out that 'Rory' was really 'Lorelai Leigh Gilmore,' he realized that he was familiar with her writing. He had done some research on The Voice before coming back to the States and he had been quite impressed with the budding reporter's work. Sure, there was room for improvement, but considering her inexperience, it was quite remarkable.

Beautiful, talented, classy, demure…an insanely good kisser—was there anything about this girl that didn't add to his addiction?

He wanted to go to her—but he didn't. He figured he'd give it a full twenty minutes before he made his way to her desk—well, fifteen at least. Being the friendly, new boss was one thing, being creepy and stalker-ish was grounds for a lawsuit. So it was settled—he'd waited all morning, he could hold out for ten more minutes.

Eight minutes later, his feet were padding towards the far end of the floor. Eight was almost ten, he was just rounding to the nearest five—a perfectly acceptable thing to do. His heart was trilling against his rib cage in anticipation. He was finally going to get to talk to her. He wasn't sure why he was so impatient—a few hours ago, he had expected to spend weeks just trying to figure out who she was and where he could find her. But now that he knew she was near, he just couldn't stay away.

He saw her cubicle coming into view. Through the entrance, he could spot her back. She was angled slightly to her left, hunched over something she appeared to be reading. Her feet were tucked up underneath her on her chair. She had taken her jacket off so that her slender shoulders were covered in nothing but the slim spaghetti straps of her tank top. Her chestnut locks were haphazardly thrown into a loose bun, exposing a wide expanse of tantalizing, yet appropriately displayed skin that was being revealed to him for the first time. He took a deep breath and tried to put a stop to his overactive imagination as he pushed away the thoughts of her revealing even more of her alabaster flesh to him. There was no doubt about it, Rory Gilmore was a drug—and he was already hooked.

* * *

No, that was no good—Rory scribbled out the awkwardly phrased sentence and then brought the pencil to her teeth to gnaw on while she contemplated what to replace it with. She ran through several versions in her head before bringing the pencil back to the page to write in the revision.

"Rory Gilmore, as I live and breathe." She jumped in her seat and the pencil that had been in her grip went flying backwards, bouncing off the wall of her cubicle and falling to the ground. She brought her hand to her chest and took a few calming breaths before turning around to face her interrupter.

"You scared the bejesus out of me!"

"Bejesus?" Logan questioned, raising his eyebrows mockingly as he bent down to retrieve the discarded writing utensil. He held the pencil out for her to take. "You seem to have trouble holding on to these. Do you have some sort of magical, pencil repelling abilities I should know about?" he questioned.

"Only around you," she mumbled under her breath. He needed to stop popping up out of nowhere. Sure, he had only just gotten there, but she seriously doubted she would ever get used to seeing him. After Friday night, all she wanted was to be able to repress the memory of her momentary lack of sanity—read: fidelity. Throughout the weekend it had proved to be harder than she'd expected, but now that he was here, the son of her boss-slash-boyfriend, and popping up every five seconds, all hope was gone. How was she going to move past what she had done when the—astonishingly sexy and persistent—evidence was right in front of her face and she had promised Mitchum she'd look out for him?

"What?" he asked, tilting his head to the side as though it would help him hear her.

"Nothing," she brushed it off, un-tucking her legs and crossing them in front of her, "you just startled me."

"Startled works for you." Logan gave her a charming smile and Rory felt her heart flutter a little bit in her chest. He was so much like his father—the looks, the charisma, the simple mannerisms—it was uncanny. It was no wonder she had been attracted to him at the bar. Of course there were other things that made him attractive as well. It was true that Logan had Mitchum's eyes and his smile, and the tips of both of their noses turned down a bit at the tip, but Logan was younger. He had a full head of golden locks and his skin was smoother, less damaged by the natural course of time. He was in better shape than his father, perhaps having a bit more time to work his body as well as his mind. The t-shirt he had worn the other night had hugged the muscles of his arms and chest and the suit he wore to the office emphasized his broad shoulders. Being young definitely had some advantages in the looks department.

Of course, along with Logan's lack of age came his lack of maturity. Rory liked the way the corners of Mitchum's eyes would crinkle up when he smiled. She liked the way he could command the attention of an entire room with just one look whether the room was full of a hundred people, or just her. She liked the debonair look the hint of grey in his five o'clock shadow gave him. These were things Logan had yet to inherit from his father. Sure she could admit—to herself at least—that Logan was attractive. However, despite the similarities, he just wasn't his father—he wasn't the man she wanted to be with. If she could just get that through her guilty conscience, maybe she really could work with, and even befriend, Logan. She could do it—for Mitchum's sake. And maybe she could even make things better between the father and son pair.

But first, she had to clear something up. "Look, Logan, about the other night…"

"Oh, you mean when we kissed and then you ran away—you didn't even leave me a glass slipper, you know," he jested with a smirk.

"Oh I did, but some drunk girl passed out on it and it broke."

"Ouch," Logan winced overdramatically, "that sounds painful."

"Oh, I'm sure it was. Plus, I heard some of the shards punctured her silicone breast implants. A class action suit is pending."

"So it looks like a bad night was had by all. Good to know it wasn't just me."

Rory sighed, feeling genuinely bad for the way she'd treated him the other night. He seemed like a good guy and she had led him on unfairly. If they were going to have any kind of relationship—professional or friendly—it was only right that she let him know the limitations up front… minus the details, of course. "Look, I think things got a little out of hand at the club. You seem like a nice guy and all, and it's nothing personal, but I think it's best if we just forget what happened."

"Forget _what_ happened?" Logan flashed another one of his smirks.

Rory smiled genuinely. "Thanks."

"No problem," Logan agreed, "so, what are you doing for dinner tonight?"

Her smile quickly faded. She should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Huntzberger men were persistent. "What part of 'forget it ever happened' stumped you, Huntzberger?"

"I'm not stumped," he insisted, "in fact, I think it's pretty clear. You want to forget about what happened on Friday. I've forgotten it—moved on. It's actually quite perfect because now after our date we can have a first kiss that doesn't end in deflated boobs or egos."

"That is not what I meant," she replied, trying to control the aggravation in her voice.

"Hmm, well then I guess you should have been a little more specific… is eight alright?"

"Alright for what?"

"Dinner, I know this great Indian place. Do you like Indian?"

"Arrgh," she growled in frustration, throwing her head back to look to the heavens for some kind of help. She didn't know how Mitchum could complain that his son wasn't focused—he sure as hell seemed to be focused when he wanted to be. Maybe if he was as persistent with his work as he was with his quest for a date, Mitch wouldn't need to worry so much.

"So that's a 'no' to the Indian, then?" he asked with raised eyebrows. He seemed to be trying to hold back a laugh. She glared at him. "I'm kidding," he finally admitted. "Well, sort of, I like you, Rory. I can forget about what happened the other night, but I can't just forget _that_. And I think you like me, too. I get that it's weird—working together and me kind of being your boss and all—but I'm sure we could work that out."

"It's more complicated than that." Obviously she could work out the logistics of having an illicit relationship with her boss—that was actually the problem.

"We can keep it low key—no one has to know if you don't want them to."

"No one _can_ know. They can't know what happened and as for what's going to happen—there won't be anything _for_ them to know."

There was a moment of silence and then Rory noticed a sudden look of realization cross Logan's face. "There's someone else…"

"What?" Rory asked, suddenly panicked. It would be so convenient just to be able to say she was already in a relationship, but that would bring up all sorts of other questions, especially since no one else knew. And what if he wanted details? It was too dangerous to admit to it.

"God, it's so obvious--look at you." He motioned up and down her body. "That guy—from this morning—that's him, isn't it?

The panic quickly abated as the overwhelming desire to laugh consumed her. "The guy from this morning?" she asked incredulously, a few giggles slipping out. "Chase?"

"What's so funny?" he asked, obviously incensed. Although whether it was from her laughing at him, or the insane idea that there was something between her and Chase, she wasn't sure.

"Seriously, have you met Chase?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I'm sorry; I just find it highly amusing that you would feel threatened by Chase…"

"I'm not threatened," he interrupted angrily.

"…unless you have a crush on the copy boy that I don't know about," Rory finished, completely ignoring Logan's interjection.

"Huh?"

"Chase is gay, Logan," Rory finally admitted.

"He is?"

"Flaming," she laughed, "did you not see the poster of Cher hanging in his cubicle?"

"Oh," was all he managed to say. An uncomfortable pause filled the air and Rory could swear she saw a faint undertone of red spread through his features as he turned his eyes away from her.

The silence stretched on for a few more seconds before Rory finally took the reigns and broke it. "Don't you have any work to do?" she asked good-naturedly.

The tensions dissipated and Logan latched on to the new conversation, apparently thankful for the change of topic. "Oh, you mean the ever important job of following other people around and watching them do stuff? I don't know how I'll handle the stress," Logan recapped the meeting from earlier that day.

Rory rolled her eyes at Logan's comment. "Mi…ster Huntzberger just wants to give you a chance to get to know the place," Rory replied, quickly correcting herself before calling Mitchum by his first name.

"No, 'Mr. Huntzberger' just wants to make sure it's physically impossible for me to screw anything up. If he doesn't give me any real work to do, then I can't cause any real damage when I live down to his exceptionally low expectations."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating just a bit?" she asked, making note of his hyperbole. She knew the relationship between Logan and Mitchum was strained, but surely Logan had to realize that his father cared about him.

"You obviously don't know my father very well."

Rory bit her tongue to keep herself from commenting that she knew him better than Logan thought. "He's your father. I'm sure he just wants to see you live up to your potential."

"The only potential Mitchum Huntzberger thinks I have is the potential to run his precious company into the ground."

"That's not true," Rory insisted. Could Logan really think his father thought so little of him? Mitchum had a big heart and she knew he loved his son, but she could understand how one could feel sub par next to him, and maybe even a little ashamed. It was hard to live up to the standards of the great Mitchum Huntzberger—he set the bar pretty high. But he just wanted the best out of the people he loved. Sure, his compliments—like the one he made on her article last week—were rare, but they were meaningful.

"Yes it is."

She resisted the urge to get into a 'yes it is-no it's not' argument with him. The last time she'd had one of those, she'd been a senior in high school, arguing with Paris in front of the headmaster. She'd been embarrassed by the juvenileness of it then and she sure as hell was too mature for it now. He wasn't going to believe it was true just because she said so—even if he had known what a credible source she was. She decided to take another route. "So, prove him wrong."

"There's no proving Mitchum wrong. He sees what he wants to see."

"So prove it to yourself," she tried.

Logan raised his eyebrows pointedly. "You think London was an accident? That paper was going under—now it's one of the biggest publications in the city. I already know I can be good." He sounded surprisingly non-condescending. In fact, he mostly just sounded bored, as though the accomplishments he'd achieved in his two years abroad meant nothing.

"Then what's the problem?" she asked, genuinely interested.

"The problem is that I don't care. This business—I do it because I have to, not because I want to."

Rory almost felt sorry for him. Her own mother had never wanted anything from her except for her own happiness. Well that, and for Rory to go to Harvard, but Rory had wanted that just as badly, and she knew that if she had chosen another path, her mother would have accepted it. Logan didn't have those choices in life. Sure, he had everything handed to him on a silver platter, but the price was his freedom and even then he didn't have a choice in the matter. It couldn't have been easy. Still, there must have been something he enjoyed about his job. "Don't you like anything about journalism?"

"Sure, the journalism, but that isn't my job." He stiffened up and his voice took on a mocking tone. "'Synergy and new media ventures in increasing shareholder value'—that's my job."

"The writing is important, too," she countered. "Your father worked as a reporter and editor for two of your papers before becoming CEO. He was short listed for the Pulitzer for his coverage of the Iranian hostage crisis when he was _twenty-five_. He's written about everything from foreign affairs, domestic policy, he even had a wine column. "

"You don't have a wall and a secret room with pictures of my father pasted all over it, do you?" Rory felt her face flush. She may have gotten just a little too gushy there. She just hoped she hadn't given anything away. At least she'd only gushed about his professional accomplishments. She could still rationalize that.

"I work for the man, Logan. It's my job to know about him.

"So what you're saying is that you're a big brown-noser."

Rory felt her face tighten up in annoyance—she was not a brown-noser. Of course, true or not, it was definitely the more acceptable explanation for her knowledge, so she let it go. "I'm just saying that if you like to write, you should write. Maybe just start with an editorial introducing yourself to the readers…I'm sure your father would appreciate seeing you contribute to the company and making a name for yourself, and you'd be getting to do something you enjoy."

"And again I remind you—you don't know my father, at least not the man behind the Iranian hostage crisis. He just wants me to do what I'm told and not get into too much trouble. I doubt he'd appreciate it nearly as much as you think."

"What have you got to lose?"

"My dignity when my father tells me how much I suck for the eleven-thousandth time, my sense of hearing when his yelling reaches 150 decibels, and also—time spent flirting with you."

"I think you have a greater chance at retaining your dignity if you write the article than if you stay and flirt with me," Rory clarified.

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty, little head about that, you'll give in to my charms eventually."

"Oh really?"

"Really." Logan nodded assuredly.

"Tell you what," Rory offered, "if you write an article, I will give you the pleasure of my company at lunch—as friends," she clarified, "during a workday, here at the office."

"There are a whole lot of stipulations to this lunch, are you sure you're worth it?" he asked with raised eyebrows, crossing his arms over his chest.

Rory leaned back confidently in her chair and crossed her arms, mimicking his pose. "I don't know, you tell me."


	5. My Cherry Amour

**AN: You know, I really hate it when I finally get my butt around to updating and then about 2 minutes after I send a chapter to my beta, another big story is updated for the first time in forever. It really takes away from my thunder :P But, alas, I decided not to be a spoiled brat today and post anyway even though I feel like I tend to get less reviews at a time like this. Prove me wrong, people ;)**

**PS- I've decided I love writing Mitchum and Rory. I'm a freak, I know. Don't worry, there's still plenty of Rogan-y goodness to go around.**

* * *

She bounced from foot to foot as she stood in the hallway, waiting for the door to Mitchum's apartment to open. She had avoided him all weekend and she hadn't spent any significant amount of time with him—outside a few stolen moments in the office—in almost a week. Friday was supposed to be their first date since he'd gotten back from a three day meeting in Denver, but she had graciously given that time up so that he could meet his son and try to reconcile. It was obvious the reconciliation was still a work-in-progress, but she was hopeful they could sort out their differences. Logan seemed like a reasonable guy. Sure, it was obvious there were many hard feelings from a lifetime of conflict, but Mitchum loved his son. Logan just needed to see that. Maybe if she could get Mitch to ease up on him a bit—she knew he only wanted the best for his loved ones, but sometimes he _could_ push a bit too hard.

But that wasn't why she was there. Tonight, she just wanted to spend some time with her boyfriend now that her guilt had subsided. She felt much better after her talk with Logan. She had screwed up, yes, but perhaps something good could come out of it all. She could befriend Logan and help him _and_ Mitch out. And now she didn't feel like she had to hide in shame from either one of them. So, she was here for a little down time with her man.

The door finally swung open and she stepped right into the apartment, reaching into her oversized purse and bringing out a couple of flat, rectangular boxes. "What do you think—_Seven Pounds_, or _W_?" she asked immediately, showing Mitchum the DVD cases. "Now, I know you're a Republican and I've come to accept that, but personally, I think watching George 'Dubbya' choke on a pretzel is too mock-worthy to pass up. But if you really insist, we can go with a little emotional manipulation instead—or so Ebert says." She paused to catch her breath just long enough to notice the angry look on her boyfriend's face. "Or we can just put on Fox News and make out to The O'Reilly Factor," she suggested with a sheepish smile.

"Or perhaps, you'd like to explain this to me?" he offered in return, holding up a couple of pages filled with type and stepping aside to let her into the apartment.

"Umm, well, it looks like paper," she answered hesitantly, stepping through the threshold.

"Paper, yes, paper containing the contents of an e-mail my son sent to me not half an hour ago. And do you know what's on this paper?"

Rory's eyes lit up with pride. Logan had taken her advice and he'd wasted no time in doing so. "An article?" In her excitement, it came out as a question although she was sure of the answer.

"Correct, for ten points," Mitchum responded dryly, pointing at Rory with the pages still in his hands. She grabbed them from him and started to read the article, overlooking—in her excitement—the fact that Mitchum was clearly not as happy as she was. "Although as my memory serves, I don't recall assigning him any articles—do you?"

Rory was already engrossed in the words on the paper in front of her and wasn't paying attention to Mitchum anymore. She meandered over to the couch and sat down, never lifting her eyes from the pages. "This is really good," she exclaimed happily. She knew Logan had it in him—he was a Huntzberger after all.

"Of course it's _decent_," Mitchum stressed the word, conveying that he was clearly less impressed than she, "he's a Huntzberger. If he couldn't write a half-way respectable article, I'd have him DNA tested." Rory's eyes drifted back towards the article but Mitchum snatched it away from her, forcing her focus back to him.

"Hey, I wasn't…" Rory started to reach for the papers again, but finally registered the irate expression on Mitchum's face. "You're not happy…" she stated the obvious.

"Now what would give you that idea?" he replied in a sarcastic manner.

"But I thought you'd…"

"What, be happy that one of my employees thinks he can just have whatever job he wants? He's supposed to be learning the business side of things, not wasting his time writing useless crap on a whim." He tossed the papers angrily on to the coffee table, and they scattered all around.

Rory resisted the urge to get offended. He wasn't putting down her job as a writer, he just felt that Logan should have a different job. Writing wasn't a waste of time, it just wasn't what he wanted Logan doing at this point. After all, writing was the crux of his entire empire. Still, she had to disagree with him. "Logan isn't just some employee, he's your son. And getting involved and making a name for himself here hardly seems like a waste of time. _You_ did a lot of writing before you moved on to the business aspect of things. Don't you think it's important for him to understand and appreciate the crux of the business he's going to be running some day?"

"He should have been doing that in college. But could you find that boy anywhere near the Yale Daily News during the _five_ years he attended? Of course not, he always wants to _be_ somewhere else, _do_ something else. He doesn't have time to be years behind. I was a year younger than him when I got short-listed for the Pulitzer and even then, _this_…" he shook the papers in front of him, "is so far from Pulitzer worthy, Gary Larson would have a better chance of getting one."

Rory looked at her boyfriend in shock. This wasn't him. She'd never seen him get so riled up about anything. He always kept his calm about everything. How could one little article have him up in such arms? She hated to say it but she could actually see what Logan was talking about when it came to his relationship with his father. But…no…Mitchum was only so upset because he cared so much. He wanted the very best for his son—he just didn't know how to express it. She would just have to show him. She stood up, placing a hand gently on his cheek. "I'm sorry," she began. She wasn't, really, but she figured it couldn't hurt to appease him a little. "But maybe you should try to give him a little support with this…"

"Support?" he scoffed, turning away from Rory's touch. "All I've _done_ is support that boy for the last twenty-six years. I supported him when he got kicked out of boarding school after boarding school, I supported him when he took a year off to sail around the world and sow his damn wild oats. I'm sick of supporting his damn every whim. It's time he started doing what was expected of him."

"I know," she replied. She took another step toward him and reached out her hand, intertwining her fingers with his. When he didn't pull away again she continued on. "But he's trying this time. He's trying to be involved with the business, he's trying to do something right—"

Mitchum scoffed and she could feel his hand pulling away but she tightened her grip and reached for the other one. "Listen," she requested. He sighed and she noticed his shoulders slump a little. He was listening—albeit reluctantly. "I know you have expectations. And maybe he's not at the same point at this age that you were, but he's already been successful at running the London paper—"

"Yeah, with about five of my best men telling him what to do—"

"So he had help," Rory acknowledged, "he still did a good job. He has the potential to be great, just like you. I'm sure of it."

"Why are you defending him? You're supposed to be on my side," Mitchum scowled. Rory had to repress a grin. Being pout-y was certainly not a Mitchum Huntzberger trait, but every once in a while, he let his guard down around her and it was those moments when she truly loved him.

"I _am_ on your side," she promised. She was on both of their sides. She barely knew Logan, but there was a connection there. She knew they were going to be great friends—just as soon as he stopped constantly hitting on her, of course. Not that this was the time to tell Mitchum that. "And I want you to be happy. That's why I'm saying this. I know you want the best out of him, but you can't force it. I think he did well in London because he had space." She took one of her hands out of his and placed it just under his chin. "It's not easy living in your shadow. There's got to be a lot of pressure on him."

"Well, welcome to the world, Rory. There's a lot of pressure on everyone."

"But a little support goes a long way. I know you support him, but I don't think _he_ gets that. He likes writing, and he's good at it." Rory pointed towards the scattered papers as evidence. "By giving him the space to thrive at an area of the business he enjoys, maybe it'll help him see that he has your support and make him want to become more active in other areas of the business as well."

Mitchum sighed with exasperation. "It'll make you happy if I print the damned article?"

Rory's face immediately brightened, knowing she had won. She shook her head enthusiastically. "Fine," he relented, "he can write for the paper, but he still has to take care of his other responsibilities here."

She bounced up and down with excitement at her triumph. "Thank you," she told him, standing on her tippy-toes to press a quick kiss to his lips in appreciation. Before her heals had even reached the ground again, his arm was around her waist and pulling her back to him for a more passionate embrace.

After they parted she looked up at him with a sly grin. "You know, I think The O'Reilly Factor's still on."

He smiled back down at her. "I do believe you're right, Pooh. I do believe you're right."

* * *

"You beckoned, Your Majesty?" Logan spat out sarcastically as he entered his father's office.

Mitchum rolled his eyes at his son's impudence. "Sit," he ordered.

"Yes sir, as you wish, sir." Logan mock saluted, then followed Mitchum's orders and sat in the chair across the desk from his father.

Mitchum took a deep breath, trying not to lose his cool. Logan was the only person in the world who could make him so damn annoyed. His son was a spoiled brat who never took anything seriously. In his opinion, the boy didn't deserve to have anything to do with Huntzberger Publishing Group. Unfortunately, cutting him off wasn't an option—it just wasn't the way things worked in his World. Besides, he didn't have any other sons to take over the business when he retired and he'd be damned if his sister's fruity kid got control of his pride and joy.

Still, he wasn't doing this for Logan's sake—he was doing it for Rory's. He wasn't sure how he let her talk him into this. He was supposed to be making the rules—in work, in the relationship, in life—and yet she had just seemed so earnestly to want to help that he had caved. It was ridiculous, really. Mitchum Huntzberger didn't cave—especially not to a woman. Although, he supposed his reward last night had sufficiently made up for his moment of weakness. And who knew, maybe she was right. Maybe Logan did have some hidden potential somewhere. Mitchum didn't really think so, and he certainly didn't think it was his son's doing that had made the London paper a success, but what harm could this do? Logan couldn't mess up the writing too bad, and if he did, Mitchum didn't have to publish it.

"I got your article."

"Well if it isn't the miracle of e-mail at work," Logan rolled his eyes.

"Shut your trap and show me some respect or I'll take it right back out of the lay-out."

Logan's eyes shot up in shock to meet his father's. "You put it in?" he asked incredulously, blinking in disbelief.

"Tomorrow," Mitchum acknowledged, "this doesn't mean you're a writer now," he clarified. "You have your real work to do."

"You mean my 'shadowing'?" Logan scoffed with his default sarcasm back in place.

"Don't be flip. I expect full performance reviews on each department. Plus, there will be board meetings and business trips. This isn't just some game. You'll be taking over this company some day, whether either of us likes it or not. You damn well better know how to run it."

Apparently, Logan had run out of smart-ass quips—he kept his mouth shut. "But in the mean time, you better not forget that this is still my paper. That being said,_ if_ you can find something on your own that you think is worth writing about and _if_ you have the time to research and write it, I will _consider_ publishing it in _my _paper—understood?"

There was silence for a moment before Logan looked up to meet his father's eye again. "Yes sir, thank you," he admitted sheepishly, clearly unsure of what to make of his father's sudden interest in letting Logan do something he actually wanted to.

"Get out of my office. I have work to do." Without another word exchanged between the two, Logan stood up and left.

* * *

"So, guess who gets the pleasure of my company at lunch today?" Logan asked, peeking his head into Rory's cubicle. She was furiously typing away at her computer and for a moment he wasn't even sure she had heard him.

"Huh?" she said after an abnormally long pause, finally spinning in her chair to face her visitor. She seemed confused at first—it must have been some article she was working on—but he was sure he saw her eyes light up when she realized it was him.

"I went ahead and wrote that article," he explained.

"I know," she exclaimed excitedly. "…knew… that you could do it."

"And here's the real clincher…" he continued on, moving out of the entrance of the cubicle and inviting himself all the way in. He leaned up against her desk and crossed his arms in front of him. "Dad's actually going to publish it."

"I told you so," she gloated

"Well, apparently Mitchum Huntzberger still has a few tricks up his sleeve, even for me. Who would have guessed?"

"I would have," she reminded him.

"Right, well, that's not the point," he muttered, uncrossing him arms and waving his hand dismissively. "The point _is, mon Cherry_, that you owe me lunch."

"Don't you mean '_mon Cheri'_?" she corrected.

"Nope," Logan answered with a smirk.

It took her a moment, but after a few seconds, her eyes sparked with recognition, and not in a good way. "Great, two embarrassing 'cherry' incidences in two meets and I'm branded forever. You're never going to let me live it down, are you?"

"Well, I could get past your offer at the bar—after all, I _did_ promise to forget that night ever happened—but our second encounter is pretty much seared into my brain."

"Thanks," she answered wryly.

"Hey, it's not my fault you've got such a nice butt," he defended.

"Are you done being demeaning?" Rory rolled her eyes, but she wasn't really offended for some reason.

"For now," he shrugged and stood up from the desk, "see you at lunch, Cherry."

_

* * *

_

Knock, knock!

"Come in," Logan called from his seat at the desk.

"I promised you a lunch, so here…" she trailed off as she entered the room, her eyes sweeping her surroundings. "I thought we were going to the cafeteria."

Logan smirked. "Now where would the fun be in that?'

"I thought I was clear, Logan," she replied stoically. "We're just friends."

"What, friends eat lunch to candle light." He gave his best possible _innocent_ look but failed miserably. He gestured to the picnic set up on the floor in front of his desk, surrounded by flickering candles. The overhead lights were dimmed considerably.

"Do they also listen to 'Endless Love' in the dark?"

"You know, I believe they do, Cherry."

"Would you please stop calling me that?"

She was clearly a little annoyed by this point, but Logan paid it no mind. "Mmm," he pretended to consider it, "not likely, sorry."

She placed her hand on her hip and glared at him angrily, her foot tapping incessantly. Angry worked for her. There was a sparkle in her blue eyes and her cheeks flushed red. The placement of her hand accentuated the curve of her hip and the tapping of her foot drew his attention to her long, lean legs. She was absolutely gorgeous.

He chuckled amusedly. "I promise…" He put his hand to his chest, "no funny business." He knew he was going to regret such a promise—in fact, he already did—but he also knew she meant business. He couldn't understand—she was clearly attracted to him and they didn't lack for chemistry. He wasn't just some random guy in a bar anymore, he was her colleague, so she didn't have the excuse of not wanting to go home with a stranger. Okay, so he was more her boss than her colleague, but that didn't really seem to bother her. She was okay enough being friends with him, and she clearly wasn't afraid to tell him off. So why was she so reluctant to give this thing between them a chance? Whatever the reason, she was pretty adamant, so like it or not, for now, he would just have to play along. Logan had a tendency to get what he wanted. It might take a little work, but he'd wear down her reserves eventually. "Come on." He gave her his best puppy dog eyes.

She sighed in relent and relaxed her shoulders a little. "Turn the lights up and get rid of the candles," she instructed.

"Killjoy," he pouted.

The glare returned.

"Okay, okay," he relented, holding his hands up in defeat. "Candles are gone." He spun around in his chair and stood up, moving around the desk towards the picnic laid out on the floor.

She smiled as she watched him get down on his knees and blow out the candles one by one. "Good boy." She took it upon herself to adjust the dimmer switch on the wall near the door to turn the lights back up.

He looked up at her with a scowl. "Good boy?" he repeated, "'cause that doesn't sound placating and condescending at all." He rolled his eyes.

"Aww, I'm sorry, did I hurt poor Logan's feelings?" she cooed with a smile.

"Are we going to have lunch now," he asked, ignoring her attempts to rile him up, "because I went to great pains to convince this Indian place to deliver."

"I hate Indian," she informed, straight-faced.

"What?" he looked up at her with a look of horror on his face. "But—"

Her face couldn't hold back any longer and she broke out into a grin. "Kidding," she admitted. She stepped further into the office and shut the door behind her before taking a seat on the sari that lay covered with lunch. "Indian's perfect."

* * *

**AN2: I came to the conclusion that I don't have no idea how to work the "Ace" nickname into this story without being completly obvious and unoriginal. I still wanted Logan to have a nickname for her though, especially since Mitchum has one (albeit a very yicky one, but that's kind of the point). So, Cherry was born. It kind of reminds me of Punky Brewster though. Oh well, it fits. Hope you enjoyed and don't forget...**

**review please ;)**


	6. Rose Tints My World

**AN: I'd forgotten just how much fun this story was to write. I know some of you were hoping for updates of some of my other stories before this one and I swear I sat down to write Take a Breath fifteen gazillion times but I'm halfway through it and stuck. It's just so emotionally draining to write whereas this story is oodles of fun to write. And anyway, I figured any update was better than no update and some of you will be excited to see this so at least I can make some of you happy. I'll keep trying to get TaB done and then maybe I'll pull out World's Together if I'm feeling really ambitious. But in the mean time hopefully I can just keep writing something.**

* * *

"Look what I've got!" Chase beamed, plopping himself down at the table in the cafeteria and holding up two tickets.

"Are you going to see Wicked _again_?" Rory asked him with a roll of her eyes.

"Steven Shwartz is a genius," Chase replied defensively.

"Is there a twelve step program for people addicted to Broadway shows?" Rory mused as she savored a spoonful of her pudding cup.

"Ohho…so funny I forgot to laugh," Chase snarked back. "But it just so happens that these are not tickets to a Broadway show or any other musical theater performance."

"Really?" Rory raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "So I suppose you're going to the Jets game, then?"

"I hope not," another voice interrupted. Logan sat down, peeling a banana and looking bored. "They really suck this year. Personally, I'm a Patriots fan, but if you're gonna root New York, at least go for the Giants." He lifted his eyes from his fruit to see two sets of eyes staring blankly back at him. "This wasn't actually a football conversation I interrupted, was it?" he asked sheepishly.

"Gee, how'd you guess?" Rory teased. For the last few weeks since their Indian lunch in his office, Logan had been joining Rory and Chase for their midday meal in the cafeteria—at least on the days when he had time to actually eat lunch. Rory found herself enjoying his company. Logan was smart, funny and talented. It was a shame that Mitchum couldn't appreciate those qualities in him. Of course, if she had any say in the matter it wouldn't be long before Logan stopped hiding those traits behind rebellion and Mitch started realizing his son had grown up into a good man. They both just needed a little guidance.

"How many points is a touch down?"

"Umm, one?" Rory replied.

Chase rolled his eyes. "I may be gay but even _I_ know it's seven."

"Actually it's six—but anyhow, that's how I guessed."

"Six? That's such a random number," Rory commented, sitting back in her seat and crossing her legs. It didn't go unnoticed by Chase that she crossed them towards Logan. "I mean, one score, one point…that makes sense. Six—not so much."

"Hey, I don't make the rules. I just watch the game. What were you two talking about anyway?"

"Chase was just about to tell me what non-musical-theater event he got tickets to."

"That's right." He clapped his hands in excitement. "It just so happens, my friends, that _I _am going to see…" He banged on the table in an imitation drum roll. "…American Idols Top Ten Tour." Logan let out an involuntary snort. "You got a problem with American Idol, Blondie?" Chase asked.

"No," Logan replied, trying to bite back a laugh. "American Idol is great. That Carrie Underwood chick was hot."

Rory sent him a death glare. Logan shirked back in fear. "I'm just saying…"

"Just saying that you're a pig?" she questioned.

"Has anyone ever told you that angry really works for you," he replied, laying the charm on thick. It was the truth. She was hot when she was mad.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her.

"Oh please, will you two give up the shameless flirting and go have sex already. It's disgusting."

"He's got a point, Cherry," Logan agreed with a smirk. She had finally given up her protest at the nickname—probably because it was the only thing he ever called her and she figured it was a lost cause. "What have you got to lose?"

"I think the nunnery she joined frowns upon it," Chase piped in.

"You don't know what you're talking about," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest defensively.

"Now there's an opening," Logan raised his eyebrows suggestively.

"Pig," she repeated her earlier sentiment.

Logan smirked in reply, not bothering to deny it. "Alright gang, I gotta get back to work." He pushed his chair back and stood up to leave.

Rory looked him up and down. "All you had was a banana."

"Yeah?" he asked.

"A banana isn't lunch, Logan. You have to eat something."

"If it makes you feel better, I'll probably get a bag of pretzels out of the vending machine for a snack later."

"Well there's a nutritionally balanced diet if ever I saw one."

"I'm fine, Cherry."

"Logan," she admonished, fixing him with her best withering stare.

"Alright, alright, I'll grab a sandwich to take with me."

"Thank you." Logan headed back to the food line and Rory and Chase continued their conversation.

"Anyway, I kind of know one of the security guards for the show. He's totally got a thing for me. I am _so_ going to flirt my way back stage so I can meet David Archuletta."

"Jail bait, Chase," she reminded him pointedly.

"Hey, I can see bait and not bite."

"I bet that's not what that security guard will say," Rory teased. "And anyway, David Cook was by far the better David."

"You're delusional. Archie kicked Cookie's butt. He so deserved to win."

"America spoke, and America disagreed with you, my friend."

"Whatever," Chase brushed off her argument and continued his gushing. "I am so excited about this. I was supposed to go to The Met to see their performance of Rocky Horror but this is _way_ better."

"I'm sorry, did you just say that they were doing a performance of Rocky Horror at the Metropolitan Opera?" Rory asked in awe. That was pretty much the coolest thing she'd ever heard of. Talk about a rock opera.

"Totally. Hey! You should go. It'd be right up your alley. Not that you've got anyone to go with seeing as how you're pathetically single and all," Chase goaded.

"I am _not_ pathetically single," Rory pouted. If only Chase knew how _not_ pathetically single she was; but she couldn't tell him. She hated hiding something so big from her friends but it wasn't that simple. It wasn't just her life that would be affected. She had to think about Mitch too. "I just happen to be happy with the way my life is right now. I could easily find someone to go see Rocky Horror with me." She wasn't sure who. She couldn't even imagine Mitchum at a Rocky Horror performance, Chase obviously had other plans, Paris would never give up a night of studying, and most of her other relationships had fallen under the radar since she'd started dating Mitchum. Even her once freakishly close bond with her mother was only a shell of what it used to be. She didn't mean to shut people out of her life but keeping her relationship a secret had put a strain on her. She hated lying so it had been easier just to avoid discussing it which somehow resulted in her avoiding discussions with her friends and family all together.

The truth was, she was lonely. Mitchum worked all the time and traveled a lot, and there weren't many other people left in her life to fill the void when he was gone. But she loved him. Leaving him just wasn't an option. Besides, then she really would be pathetically single and alone.

"Mmmhmm, like who?" Chase asked knowingly.

"I don't know, someone. Lot's of people love Rocky Horror. It doesn't matter though. I bought a pair of Jimmy Choos last week which pretty much exceeded my spending budget for the next three months. I can't afford to go anyhow..."

A saran wrapped sandwich suddenly appeared in front of Rory's face. "Ham and Cheese," Logan anounced. "Happy?"

"Yes," Rory admitted. "But I expect you to actually eat it. You better not leave it sitting around on your desk to grow Penicillin."

Logan laughed. "Sure thing, Mom" he teased. He unwrapped the corner and took a bite. "Yum. Nutrition-y goodness," he added, chewing loudly for Rory to hear. "See you later," he laid a hand on her shoulder and squeazed before turning and walking out of the cafeteria.

"Why won't you put that poor boy out of his misery and go out with him? Hey you could even get a free trip to Rocky Horror out of it."

"We're _just_ friends, Chase."

"Sally said about Harry."

"This isn't a movie," Rory sighed in frustration. "If it was I'd fake an orgasm to shut you up."

"Now that'd be something," Chase admitted. "I dare you."

"What?" Rory blushed profusely. "No!"

"Fine, then I dare you to go out with Logan."

"It's not going to happen."

"I don't get it," the boy sighed exasperatedly. "He's hot, he's rich, he seems like a nice guy and he's totally gaga for you. Add in the fact that you're pathetically single, I'd think you'd be jumping at the chance to go out with him."

"I am _not_ pathetically single."

"Yeah," Chase placated, taking a bite off his salad. "Keep telling yourself that, girlfriend."

* * *

The metallic taste of blood caused Rory to stop worrying her lip. She brought her hand up to finger the self-inflicted bite mark, and sighed. She needed to stop fretting and just ask him already. It was ridiculous, really, that she was so nervous. The worst that could happen was that he would say 'no.' She knew it wasn't really his scene and that he wouldn't be interested, but he was her boyfriend and if she really wanted to go, that would be enough for him, right? After all, it wasn't really like _she_ had wanted to go to some fancy, expensive restaurant where they sat in a secluded room eating food even her grandmother would find extravagant, but it made Mitchum happy to take her to places like the one they were currently in and making him happy made her happy.

"So," she started.

Mitchum set his glass of merlot down and smiled at her. "So…" he teased.

"I heard that the New York City Opera was putting on a performance of The Rocky Horror Show. How cool is that?" She glanced down at her plate nervously, drumming her fingers on the table.

"The Rocky who…" he asked in confusion.

Rory's head snapped up in disbelief, her nervousness replaced by incredulity. "The Rocky Horror Show," she repeated slowly. "Tim Curry, Susan Serandon, Sweet Transvestites…" He looked back at her with a completely blank face. "The Time Warp?" she tried again. Still, he made no note of recognition. "Oh you poor uncultured man," she cooed. She figured he wouldn't be into it, but she at least thought he'd have heard of it.

Mitchum chuckled heartily at the look of disbelief she was giving him. "Sorry, Poo," he replied. "I just can't seem to keep up with the cool kids any more."

"The movie came out in 1975," she informed him wryly. "I have it under good authority that you were still a cool kid back then. Just exactly where did you get lost to during that lost year of yours? Transexual Transylvania?"

"Excuse me?" Mitchum asked in shock.

Rory shook her head in bemused exasperation. "It's from the show," she informed him with a laugh.

"Oh." He speared a piece of prime rib with his fork and popped it in his mouth.

"You know, this is just unacceptable. I'm going to have to properly educate you if you want to be able to hang with me. You're just going to have to take me to see it." She tried to sound as light and carefree as possible. She hoped he'd take the bait but she didn't want to get her expectations up.

"When is it?" he smiled genuinely. Her argument wasn't exactly the most compelling—who wanted to watch an opera performance of a movie about transsexual transvestites—but her excitement was. She was too adorable to say 'no' to sometimes.

"Really?" Her eyes lit up in glee.

"Really," he assured her.

"It's next Tuesday."

"Oh…" Mitchum diverted his eyes away from hers for a moment before forcing himself to make eye contact again. Looking away was weak. It would make him seem guilty. He had nothing to be guilty about. "I can't," he told her bluntly.

Her entire demeanor changed. Her shoulders slumped and the excitement was instantly leached from her bright blue eyes. "I understand," she responded dejectedly. Mitchum tried not to feel bad.

"I have a flight to Hong Kong at 5:30 Wednesday morning. There's no way I can go out that night, Poo."

"Of course." She plastered a smile on her face. "You're an important man," she said teasingly. "I can't hog all of your time." She lifted her wine glass to her mouth to hide the quiver of disappointment in her lips that wanted to betray her happy-go-lucky demeanor. "Mmm. This wine is delicious."

Mitchum tried to ignore his own pang of disappointment. Not that he had any desire to go see some ridiculous show, but he hated letting Rory down. He also hated that he hated letting Rory down. This night seriously needed to get back on a happier track.

"For two hundred and fifty dollars it better be."

"Mitch!" She squealed, nearly spitting several dollars worth of wine all over the table.

"Well you're not exactly a cheap date." He smirked. Rory felt the soft cashmere of his sock brush against the inside of her ankle. Her jaw dropped in shock as she tried to kick his foot free of hers. "See," he chuckled, holding the bottle up. "You're going to need another glass."

* * *

Tuesday morning, Rory dejectedly trudged into the office. She had kept making little hints to Mitchum about how much she wanted to go see Rocky Horror, hoping he would change his mind. She knew it was unfair of her to ask him to take her out when he had a business trip the next morning. Besides having to get up insanely early, he had to pack and go over all sorts of information, plan his meetings...he didn't have time for some frivolous show. But still, she had hoped he would figure out a way to make the time—for her sake.

But the day of the show had come and it looked like she wouldn't be getting to see it. She would have to settle for bringing the movie over to Mitch's to watch in the background while she helped him pack.

She absently made her way into her cubicle, dropping her purse to the floor and collapsing into her chair, letting it spin her around a few times before turning to her desk to power up her computer. There, sitting on top of her keyboard was a single yellow rose with a red ribbon attaching a ticket and card.

Her face instantly morphed into a smile. She opened the card to read it.

_Rory,_

_A little birdy told me there was a show you wanted to see. I hope my company isn't enough to keep you away. I'll pick you up at 6:30_

_You Know Who_

She should have known Mitchum wouldn't let her down. Now she just needed to figure out what dress to wear with those new Jimmy Choos.


	7. Keeps me Safe From My Troubles and Pain

**AN: This didn't come easily, but here it is. I know Rory may seem a little...meek in this story, but she's that way on purpose because of her relationship with Mitchum. As the story moves a long, you'll see Rory's self confidence comind back.**

* * *

"Paris, have you seen my keys?" A throw pillow went sailing across the room as Rory dug through the couch cushions looking for her keys. It was already 6:35 and she was thanking whatever fluke-y circumstance had led the annoyingly punctual Mitchum Huntzberger to be late.

"No," Paris replied apathetically as she walked into the living room, hefting her book bag over her shoulder. "I've got a histopathology exam in the morning. I'll be spending the night in the library so feel free to pull out that Janet costume you're too embarrassed to wear to the show, when you get home. I'm sure Mitchum will love it. He really seems to dig the whole innocent girl act you've got going on."

"It's a Magenta costume, actually," Rory huffed as she dropped to her knees to check underneath the coffee table.

"Whatever," Paris dismissed as she disappeared out the front door.

Rory continued making her way around the apartment in a whirlwind searching for her keys before finally finding them sitting on the bathroom sink. She sighed with relief and picked them up just as the buzzer sounded. "Crap," she muttered, scurrying out of the bathroom. She ran to the front door and pressed the intercom. "I'm coming," she panted into the speaker. "In fact, I'm already halfway down the stairs. Can't you see me walking across the lobby?" She exaggerated as she stuffed her keys, lipstick and wallet into her clutch and shoved her feet into the pair of pumps she'd left waiting by the front door.

On the other side of the intercom her date chuckled heartily and leaned against the side of the building to wait for her, wondering how long it would really take her to make it out of the building. He was more than a little surprised when the door opened not more than a couple of seconds later.

"And here I thought you were lying to me about…" He trailed off as a familiar blonde walked out the door.

"Paris?" he questioned.

"Huntzberger?" she stifled a laugh. "Oh please tell me _you__'__re_ here for Rory."

"You know Rory?" he asked, more than a little thrown by her presence. He had purged all thoughts of the despotic ex-editor from his mind after graduation. She had ruled the Yale Daily News with a vice like grip until she was Howell Raines-ed by the board. That was the last he had seen of her, and he was certainly grateful for that fact, so he couldn't understand what she was doing here, outside of Rory's apartment.

"I'm her roommate," Paris clarified. "She'll be down in a minute, she's preparing her Janet costume for the…ahem...after show." Paris finished, stifling a laugh at the entertaining turn of events.

Logan tried to hide his smile as a picture of his Cherry in a Janet costume, singing "Touch-A, Touch-A, Touch Me", flitted through his mind. If only Paris weren't joking.

"Need an ice pack for that thing?" she asked, casting her gaze down and then back up to give Logan a knowing look before breezing away.

Logan shook his head, trying to rid it of creepy images of Paris Gellar. How Rory could live with that lunatic was beyond him. He shuddered at the thought of having to see Paris again, but if it meant seeing Rory, he would just have to deal.

"Logan?" He looked up from his thoughts to see the girl he had been waiting for, dressed in a short, black dress, red heels and some clunky, metal jewelry. A look that was somehow appropriate for both a night at the Met and a showing of The Rocky Horror Show.

He smiled at her appreciatively. "You were expecting someone else?" he teased.

"Umm, no…" she stammered uneasily. "I…uh…it's just…" she trailed off. She was nervous. He liked it. "You know this isn't a date." She suddenly spit out.

"Wow, way to bruise a guy's ego, Cherry," Logan laughed, not at all offended by her remarks. Her words and her actions were clearly giving mixed signals, but that had been her since the beginning. He would keep playing along for now.

"I'm sorry, I just…" she motioned behind him. "The limo—it seems a little fancy for 'just friends,' don't you think?"

Logan looked over his shoulder at the town car behind him and shrugged. "I have a car with the company," he said by way of explanation. "Frank gets paid whether I use him or not. I figured I'd put the man to work, right Frank?" He spoke to the driver standing by the rear door, waiting to help them into the car.

"Yes, sir," the man replied politely.

Rory smiled. "Well, we wouldn't want to leave Frank with nothing to do," she conceded, somewhat uneasily. "Just so long as we're clear…"

"Not a date…got it." Logan held his hands up in surrender.

"Alright, then…" she seemed to hesitate for another moment, but then she stepped forward, and slid into the awaiting vehicle.

* * *

Mitchum straightened out his packed, travel suit bag, before taking it down off the door it was hanging from and folding it into his suitcase. He should have had the maid doing this kind of menial labor, but Rory always got annoyed with him for not doing things for himself, and besides, he wanted the penthouse empty for the evening. He was going to be gone for a week and he wanted to enjoy his last night with Rory without any interruptions. Of course it would be a lot more enjoyable if she were on time. She was supposed to be there over half an hour ago and he was starting to get a little annoyed.

He was placing a couple of pairs of shoes on top of his suits when his cell phone rang. He picked it up and looked at the caller ID—it was her. "Huntzberger," he answered, purposely sounding distracted as though he didn't realize it was her. He didn't want her to know he was waiting on her.

"Hey," she responded, her voice sounding cautious. "It's me."

"Of course, sorry, Poo. I was just a little busy going over a progress report on the Hong Kong division," he lied easily as he wandered into the bathroom to start packing his toiletries. "What time is it?"

"It's 7:30," she informed him.

"Oh," he tried to sound surprised at the time. "Time flies when you're reading incredibly boring crap. Are you on your way over?"

"Actually…" she hedged, "That's why I'm calling. Something kind of came up."

"Well, what time do you think you're going to get here?" he asked, trying not to sound put out. "I could use a break. I ordered in from Shuan Lee Palace."

"You hate Chinese, and Shuan Lee doesn't deliver."

"_You_ like Chinese, and for me, Shuan Lee will deliver."

"That's sweet," she replied. "But not necessary. I'm um…I'm not going to be able to make it over there tonight," she finally admitted.

Mitchum tried to bite back his anger at her words. He was stuck with a crap load of work and packing to do, and a crap load of food he didn't like, and he wasn't even going to get laid for it. But getting angry at her would just put her on the defensive, it wouldn't get him anywhere.

"I was looking forward to seeing you before I went," he ground out as sweetly as he could, silently slamming his tooth brush into his travel bag.

"I know, I wanted to see you too," she assured him. "But a friend of mine got tickets to that show I wanted to see…remember?"

"And you wanted to see that more?" he replied, failing to control his anger as much as he wanted too.

"It's not like that," she insisted. "But it's only playing one night. I'm not going to get this chance again," she argued.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. This conversation wasn't going the way he wanted to and he needed to change that. "I just wish you would have told me sooner," he suggested as sweetly as he could. "We could have seen each other earlier. I'm going to miss you while you're away."

"I'm sorry," she offered guiltily. "It was last minute, I swear, I would have told you if I'd known."

He ground his teeth in frustration. "Who are you going with?"

"Just a friend."

"Anyone I know?" Rory wasn't exactly Miss Social Butterfly. She hung out with the overly flamboyant copyboy at work, and Paris. That was about it. Personally, he liked it that way. It generally avoided nights like this. He was a busy man, he wanted to spend time with Rory when he could, not have her out with other people.

"Uh…Paris," she offered quickly. "She got the tickets from a patient at the hospital."

"Well, that was nice of them," he responded suspiciously. "Especially since Paris isn't usually known for her bedside manner."

"I know; it took me by surprise too. I uh…I have to go, the show is about to start. I'll call you tomorrow," she promised. Before he had a chance to respond, the dial tone was ringing in his ears.

* * *

Rory grabbed drunkenly at her stomach, trying to slow down the hysterical laughter that had her bowled over in her seat. "I can't believe you used a _Super-soaker,__"_ she gasped.

"You're supposed to," Logan argued. "It's got to rain when Brad and Janet get to the Frankenstein Place."

"You were supposed to use the little squirt gun they gave us when we got there. You weren't supposed to drench the entire Met. They almost threw us out."

"But they didn't. And their props were lame. They gave us a single sheet of toilet paper and I'll bet it wasn't even Scott's."

"That's not the point," she argued.

"It is too the point. If you're going to do Rocky Horror, you need to do it right." The car came to a stop and the previously joyful banter halted along with it.

"Well, I guess this is me," she said regretfully. If she was honest with herself, that night had been the most fun she'd had in ages-after she got over the guilt she felt for ditching Mitchum and then lying to him about who she was with. The truth was, she missed having people her own age to hang out with—Paris not withstanding: her roommate was hardly one for frivolity. That's all there was to it—the desire to have a friend to hang out with.

"Looks like," Logan responded as Frank opened the door for them. Rory slid out of the back seat and Logan followed. "At least let me walk you up," he offered.

"That's really not necessary," Rory hedged, chewing on her lip nervously. "It's not like this was a date." For the first time she wasn't sure if she was reminding him, or herself.

"Right," Logan nodded. "Still," he continued on after a brief pause. "What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn't make sure you made it all the way back to your apartment safely?"

"Not a very good one, of course," Rory admitted, with a hesitant smile, falling back into their comfortable repartee.

"Well you wouldn't want me to ruin my rep, now would you? What kind of good society girl can I catch if they find out I let a beautiful girl like you walk up to your apartment all by yourself?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to put your 'rep' in jeopardy," she consented with a soft chuckle.

"Then it's settled," he concurred, placing a hand on her back and gesturing her into the building with his other arm. "After you…"

They entered the building, making their way to the stairs. Logan looked at the steps curiously. "The elevator's broken?" he asked.

"Why, are your legs broken?" she teased.

"Cute," he replied wryly with a roll of his eyes.

"We poor folk don't have an elevator. You're just going to have to put those legs of yours to work if you want to protect your status as one of New York's most eligible bachelors."

Logan seemed to ponder this for a moment. "What floor do you live on?" he asked.

"Fourth," she confirmed.

"Fine," he pouted after a moment's pause. "I didn't get to the gym today anyway."

"Poor boy," she soothed, patting him on the shoulder. "Come on."

They made their way up the stairs in comfortable silence. "Well, we're here," Rory motioned to the doorway, suddenly nervous again. "I made it safe and sound, and so did your rep," she teased tentatively.

"I guess this is goodnight, then." He tilted the edges of his lips up into one of his patented smirks.

"Goodnight," she replied softly, her eyes meeting his. She was fully feeling the effects of said smirk, amplified by the effects of the alcohol she had consumed throughout the night.

"Good night," he whispered again, leaning in slowly, unable to break away from the hypnotizing gaze of her bright, blue eyes.

Before she knew what was happening—although to be fair, her reaction time was significantly delayed by—mitigating—factors, his lips were on hers. The kiss was easy, comfortable, and she melted into it, just for a moment, before gently pushing him away.

Logan let out what sounded almost like a whimper at the loss of contact, before jumping straight into his apology.

"I'm sorry, that was…" He didn't get to finish as she once again crashed her lips into his.

She had no idea what had come over her. She was in love with another man. And she had done the right thing—she had pushed Logan away. But the second his lips left hers she felt…empty, alone. She loved Mitchum, she really did, but sometimes she just felt so damn lonely. And Logan—she connected with him like she hadn't connected with anybody in so long. So she kissed him.

His hands snaked around her waist, pulling her in closer to deepen the kiss. She wound her arms around his neck, reveling in the pleasure of the dance of their lips. His hands dropped lower, brushing against the curve of her ass, and she moaned in pleasure. Her back came into contact with the wall and Logan moved his lips from hers to kiss her neck. His body pressed even further into hers until she could feel the bulge in his pants pressing into her and she finally seemed to gain enough sense to put an end to things.

"Logan," she groaned, sliding her hands from around his neck, down to his chest to give him a gentle push away. He didn't respond at first, continuing to kiss down her neck until she pushed a little harder and he finally broke away with a grunt, letting himself fall back against the wall in frustration.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She knew she was sending him mixed signals. It wasn't fair to him.

"God…" She watched silently, as he ran his hands through his hair, and waited silently for the angry outburst she knew she deserved. She had treated him horribly, led him on. She was scum. "What the hell is going on here, Rory?" he asked. There was frustration in his voice, hurt, but none of the ire she was expecting.

"I'm sorry," she repeated again. "It's not you, I swear."

"Let me guess…it's you?" He rolled his eyes at the obviously cliché line.

"I don't know what you want me to say?"

"How about you tell me what's really going on."

"I…" She took a deep breath. She had to tell him something. It was only fair. "Remember when you asked me if I was seeing someone else?"

"Yeah, you said you weren't..." Logan responded cautiously.

"No, actually I said I wasn't seeing Chase. I conveniently left out the part where I answered the actual question."

"Why wouldn't you tell me something like that? Why would you let me…" He stopped for a moment and Rory could tell he was searching for the right words. She understood how hard they were to find sometimes—even for a writer.

"I couldn't," she defended. "No one knows. It's complicated."

"Complicated like…you're secretly bisexual and dating a woman?" Logan suggested cautiously.

"What! No!"

"Well I can't think of any other reason you'd have a secret relationship unless you were having an affair with a married man, and frankly, you don't really seem like the 'other woman' kind of person," Logan argued.

"You don't know me very well," Rory whispered, looking at the ground, nervously avoiding Logan's gaze.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Rory fiddled in her purse, looking for her keys and avoiding the question for a few moments. "Can we talk about this inside?" she asked, turning the key in the lock and swinging the door open. Logan silently followed her into the apartment. "Do you want some coffee? I can make us some coffee…"

"Rory—"

She nodded her head in understanding. She couldn't avoid this any longer. The talk was inevitable at this point. "I'm not the innocent, perfect, little girl you think I am, Logan," she finally spun around to face him.

"I never said you were perfect."

"You have me up on some pedestal," she accused, slumping down onto a barstool in the kitchen portion of the main room. "I don't know what I did to deserve it, but it's not who I am. Do you know I lost my virginity to my first boyfriend?"

"Oh, well, then you're clearly a slut," he rolled his eyes at her melodramatics, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa, facing Rory

"After we'd already broken up and he'd married someone else," Rory clarified.

"Oh…"

Rory waited for a moment to see if he had anything else to say, but there was only silence. "See. You're thinking about me differently already."

"No," he argued. "I'm surprised, yeah, but…you made a mistake, Rory. It doesn't have to define you."

"I'm not saying it does." She stood up from her stool and walked back into the living room portion of the apartment. "But things aren't always that simple. I like to think of myself as a pretty rational person. I make pro-con lists for every decision, I over think everything. And then…then someone comes along that makes me do stupid things, and I can't help it, even when I know it's stupid, because—I love him."

"So, this guy you're with now?"

"I love him," she admitted with a shrug, taking the seat next to Logan.

"And his wife?"

Rory shook her head. "He's not married, Logan."

"But it's a stupid decision to be with him?" he questioned.

"No…yes…maybe," Rory buried her face in her hands. "I don't know. It's just complicated. He's not married, but he does have a family, and responsibilities, and our relationship just doesn't fit in with that. I thought…I thought after a while, once we got serious…"

"That's bullshit, Rory." Logan stood up angrily. "A guy doesn't just keep you his dirty, little secret for nothing. If he hasn't told anyone, he's not going to, and for you to just let him treat you that way…"

"It's not that simple," she interrupted, standing up to face him. "You don't know…"

"I do know, Rory. If he doesn't want anyone to know about you, it's because he's ashamed."

It was everything she'd been worried about for so long. That Mitchum was ashamed of her; that she wasn't good enough for him and that she'd always just be his 'dirty, little secret.' But she'd spent too long convincing herself that it wasn't true. That his desire to keep their relationship quite was really to protect them from scrutiny, because he loved her and didn't want rumors, and media, and the speculation of bloggers with no lives of their own to get in the way of that. It's what she needed to believe because if what Logan said was true, then the last year and a half of her life, and everything she thought she felt, was all a lie. She couldn't stand that thought.

She felt the tears prickling at her eyes and she collapsed down on the sofa, emotionally exhausted.

"I'm sorry," Logan said softly. "I didn't mean…"

"I think you made yourself perfectly clear."

He knelt down in front of her. "There's no reason anyone should be ashamed of you," he assured her. "If he is, he's an idiot. Unfortunately, there are a lot of idiots out there, Cherry,"

She smiled a little at her nickname. She knew Logan was only looking out for her. He really did care. "Thanks. I know you mean well, but…"

"But you're going to stay with him," Logan realized.

"It can be something good—something great, even," she sniffled, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. "I know it can, I've seen it. I'm just not ready to give up on that."

"Okay," he nodded.

"Okay?" she asked in confusion.

"Well, no" he shrugged. "It's not okay, but you need to figure that out on your own. So for now," he offered, getting off his knees and swinging around next to her on the couch. He threw his arm comfortably around her neck. "…Friends."

She smiled more genuinely, her head dropping against his shoulder in relief. "Friends," she agreed.


End file.
